I'hc J^tudcuts' levies of i£ugttsh (Ttassics. 



BALLAD BOOK 



RDITPr) HY 

KATHARINE LEE HATES, 

\\ tl.I.E-LEV C OLLEC^E. 



"The pliinfivc niimbrrs flow 

F'>r fild, utili.i()pv, f.ir ofl tliinif"*, 

And battles lonjj uk'"-' 

WlI.I.IAM \V(>l«I)vWORTII. 




LEACH, SIIFAVKLL. 8: SANBORN. 

HUSTON AM) M:\V YORK. 



7m \ 



CorV RIGHT, 1890, 

\\ Lkach. Shewell, & Sanborh. 



C. J. PtTeR8 du 8OH. 



Prcm Of BtRWICH & 8l«TM. 




PREFACE. 



Probably no teacher of English literature in our 
schools or colleges would gainsay the statement that 
one chief aim of such instruction is to awaken in the 
student a genuine love and enthusiasm for the higher 
forms of prose, and more especially for poetry. For 
love is the surest guarantee of extended and independ- 
ent study, and we teachers are the first to admit that 
the class-room is but the vestibule to education. So in 
beginning the critical study of English poetry it seems 
reasonable to use as a starting-point the early ballads, 
belonging as they do to the youth of our literature, to 
the youth of our English race, and hence appealing with 
especial fascination to the youth of the human heart. 
Every man of letters who still retains the boy-element 
in his nature — and most men. Sir Philip Sidney tells 
us, are " children in the best things, till they be cradled 
in their graves " — has a tenderness for these rough, 
frank, spirited old poems, while the actual boy in years, 
or the acti.al girl, rarely fails to respond to their charm. 



IV PREFACE. 

What Shakespeare knew, and Scott loved, and Mac- 
Donald echoes, can hardly be beneath the admiration of 
high school and university students. Rugged language, 
broken metres, absurd plots, dubious morals, are power- 
less to destroy the vital beauty that underlies all these. 
There is a philosophical propriety, too, in beginning 
poetic study with ballad lore, for the ballad is the germ 
of all poem varieties. From it are successively developed 
the epic, lyric, and drama. 

This volume attempts to present such a selection from 
the old ballads as shall represent them fairly in their 
three main classes, — those derived from superstition, 
whether fairy-lore, witch-lore, ghost-lore, or demon-lore; 
those derived from tradition, Scotch and English; and 
those derived from romance and from domestic life in 
general. The Scottish ballads, because of their far 
superior poetic value, are found here in greater number 
than the English. The notes state in each case what 
version has been followed. 

The introduction deals with various questions bearing 
upon the ballads as a whole — the trend of poem develop- 
ment, the probable antiquity and the literary history of 
our Scotch and English ballads, and the relation of 
modern ballads to ancient. Lists are given of our best 
ballad collections, of representative modern ballads, and 
of those ballads in this volume for which ve:*sions are 



PBEFACE. V 

found in other literatures. Methods of study and reci- 
tation in ballad work are suggested. The notes aim to 
give such facts of historical or bibliographical impor- 
tance as may attach to each ballad, with any indispens- 
able explanation of outworn or dialectic phrases, although 
here much is left to the mother-wit of the student. 

It is hoped that this selection may meet a definite 
need in connection with classes not so fortunate as to 
have access to a ballad library, and that even where 
such access is procurable, it may prove a friendly 
companion in the private study and the recitation-room. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

INTRODUCTION i^ 

BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION. 

The Wee Wee Man 3 

Tamlane 4 

TiiUE Thomas 12 

The Elfin Knight 15 

Lady Isobel and the Elf-Knight 18 

Tom Thumbe 21 

Kempion 33 

Alison Gross 37 

The Wife of Usheii's Well 39 

.^A Lyke-Wake Dirge 41 

Proud Lady Margaret 43 

The Twa Sisters o' Binnorie 48 

The Demon Lover .53 

Riddles Wisely Expounded 56 

BALLADS OF TRADITION. 

Sir Patrick Spens 61 

The Battle of Otterburne 65 

The Hunting of the Cheviot 11 

Edom o' Gordon 83 

KiNMONT Willie 89 

King John and the Abbot of Canterbury . . 97 

Robin Hood Rescuing the Widow's Three Sons . 101 

^ Robin Hood and Allin A Dale 106 

Robin Hood's Death and Burial Ill 

vii 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. page 

Annie of Lochkoyan 117 

Lord Thomas and Fair Annex 123 

The Banks o' Yarrow 129 

The Douglas Tragedy 133 

Fine Flowers i' the Valley 136 

The Gay Goss-Hawk 140 

Young Redin 145 

Willie and May Margaret 150 

Young Beichan 155 

Gilderoy 162 

Bonny Barbara Allan 166 

The Gardener 168 

Etin the Forester 169 

Lamkin 177 

Hugh of Lincoln 182 

Fair Annie 185 

The Laird o' Drum 189 

Lizie Lindsay 192 

Katharine Janfarie 196 

Glenlogie 199 \ 

/^Get Up and Bar the Door 201 a 

The Lawlands o' Holland 203 

The Twa Corbies 204 

Helen of Kirconnell 205 

Waly Waly 207 

^ Lord Ronald 208 

Edward, Edward 209 



INTRODUCTION. 



* 

I'll' 



The development of poetry, me . articulate life of 
man, is hidden of necessity in tlial^ftorning mist which 
overhangs the early centuries of human history. Yet 
the indications are that this art of arts had its origin, as 
far back as the days of savagery, in the ideal element of 
life rather than the utilitarian. There came a time, un- 
doubtedly, when the mnemonic value of verse was recog- 
nized in the transmission of laws and records and the 
hard-won wealth of experience. Our own Anglo-Saxon 
ancestors, whose rhyme, it will be remembered, was 
initial rhyme, or alliteration, have bequeathed to our 
modern speech many such devices for " the knitting up 
of the memory," largely legal or popular phrases, as 
bed and hoard^ to have and to hold, to give and to grant, 
time and tide, wind and wave, gold and gear ; or 
proverbs, as for example: When hale is highest, boon 
is nighest, better known to the present age under the 
still alliterative form : The darkest hour's before the 
dawn. But if we may trust the signs of poetic evolu- 
tion in barbarous tribes to-day, if we may draw infer- 
ences from the sacred character attached to the Muses in 
the myths of all races, with the old Norsemen, for in- 

ix 



X INTRODUCTION. 

stance, Saga being the daughter of Odin, we may rest a 
reasonable confidence upon the theory that poetry, the 
world over, finds its first utterance at the bidding of the 
religious instinct and in connection with religious rites. 

Yet the wild-eyed warriors, keeping time by a rude 
triumphal chant to the dance about the watch-fire, are 
mentally as children, with keen senses and eager imag- 
ination, but feeble reason, with fresh and vigorous emo- 
tions, but without elaborate language for these emotions. 
This half-inarticulate psean, as with the process of time 
it resolves itself into an ordered poem, does not take the 
lyric form of direct praise to the god who has won his 
votaries the victory, nor does it give direct expression to 
their rejoicing. It honors the hero-god by singing his 
great life-story, or it perpetuates the joy of the "war- 
wolves " by telling over the deeds of the battle-field. 
Hence the popular epic antedates the pure lyric, and we 
have the Nibelungen Lied — in its primitive forms, at 
least — before the songs of the Minnesingers, the Iliad 
before the odes of Sappho. 

Yet surely in the JSTibelungen Lied and possibly in the 
Iliad we deal with but a skilfully welded collection of 
ballads, the elder epics having come into being by a 
process of natural growth, not of arbitrary construction. 
We have but to compare the Cid with the Aeneid, 
Beowulf with the Paradise Lost, to feel the difference 
between the ballad-born poem of a people, and the 
literary masterpiece of a man. 

In our own literature, from the day of Chaucer down, 
we have had but one marked ballad-group promising a 



INTR OD UCTION. xi 

popular epiCj and this has proven a case of arrested 
development. The Robin Hood ballads have waited so 
long for the moulding hand of a master, that the English 
spirit has well-nigh grown out of sympathy with their 
greenwood life and their bluff, rollicking hero. For Eng- 
lish literature has not been left free to work out its own 
salvation. French story, Italian song, Hellenic grace, 
Hebraic passion, German thought, have pressed too close 
upon it. Foreign influence and ancient example did with 
bewildering rapidity for the singers of the court and the 
university what the slow culture of time was scarcely 
beginning to do for the singers of the populace. Our 
English poetry comes too late in the world's history to 
stand as an example of the normal development of the 
poetic germ. 

None the less, our early ballads, the most of them bear- 
ing, as they do, in Teutonic dialect and democratic spirit, 
traces of a popular origin, without claim of date or indi- 
vidual authorship, preserved for centuries by oral trans- 
mission, are legitimate examples, in this precocious, 
press-driven literature of ours, of the primitive poems 
that are born, not made. Even so comparatively small a 
group as that comprehended within this volume shows 
how truly the ballad is the parent stock of all other poem 
forms. In the ballad of plain narrative, as The Hunting 
of the Cheviot, the epic is hinted. We go a step further 
in A Lytell Geste of Rohyn Hode, — too long for insertion 
in this collection, but peculiarly interesting from the 
antiquarian point of view, having been printed as early 
as 1489, — and find at least a rough foundation for a 



xii INTRODUCTION. 

genuine hero-song, the Lytell Geste being made up of a 
number of ballads rudely woven into one. A poem like 
this, though hardly '^ an epic in miniature," — a phrase 
which has been proposed as the definition of a ballad, — 
is truly an epic in germ, lacking the finish of a minia- 
ture, but holding the promise of a seed. Where the 
narrative is highly colored by emotion, as in Helen of 
Kirconnell or Waly Waly, the ballad merges into the 
lyric. It is difficult here to draw the line of distinction. 
A Lyke-Wake Dirge is almost purely lyric in quality, 
while The Lawlands o' Holland, Gilderoy, The Twa 
Corbies, Bonny Barbara Allan, have each a pronounced 
lyric element. From the ballad of dialogue we look 
forward to the drama, not only from the ballad of pure 
dialogue, as Lord Ronald, or Edward, Edivard, or that 
sweet old English folk-song, too long for insertion here. 
The Not-Browne Mayd, but more remotely from the 
ballad of mingled dialogue and narrative, as The Gar- 
dener or Fine Flowers i' the Valley. 

Yet while epic, lyric, and drama are all inherent in 
the ballad, we must not forget that in England these 
poetic varieties were introduced from without, not left to 
the slow development from within. But nevertheless, 
while Dan Chaucer, his genius fed by Norman and 
Italian streams, was making the fourteenth century re- 
echo with that laughter which " comes never to an end " 
of the Canterbury story-tellers ; while Long Will, even his 
Teutonic spirit swayed by French example, was wrench- 
ing from his broken heart the gloomy " Vision of Piers 
the Plowman," — gloom with a star at its centre j while 



INTRODUCTION. XUl 

those " courtly makers," Wyatt and Surrey, were smooth- 
ing English song, which in the hands of Skelton had 

become so 

*' Tatter' d and jagged, 
Rudely raine-beaten, 
Rusty and motli-eaten," 

into the exquisite lyrical measures of Italy ; while the 
dull, grotesque old mysteries and miracle-plays, also of 
Continental impulse, were still, in all innocence of the 
coming rupture between Church and Stage, striving to 
do God service by impressing the Scripture stories upon 
their rustic audiences, — the ballads were being sung and 
told from Scottish loch to English lowland, in hamlet 
and in hall. Heartily enjoyed in the baronial castle, 
scandalously well known in the monastery, they were 
dearest to the peasants. 

'* Lewd peple loven tales olde ; 
Swiche thinges can they wel report and holde." 

The written form in which we possess these ballads 
to-day is comparatively modern. Eew can be dated 
further back than the reign of Elizabeth ; the language 
of some is that of the last century. But the number and 
variety of versions — the ballad of Lord Bonald, for in- 
stance, being given in fifteen forms by Professor Child 
in his monumental edition of " The English and Scottish 
Popular Ballads ; " " Lord Eonald, my son,'' appearing 
variously as " Lord Eandal, my son," " Lord Donald, my 
son," " King Henrie, my son," " Lairde Kowlande, my 
son," "Billy, my son," " Tiranti, my son," "my own 
pretty boy," "my bonnie wee croodlin dow," "my 



XIV INTBODUCTION. 

little wee croudlin doo," "Willie doo, Willie doo," 
"my wee wee croodlin doo doo," — are sure evidence of 
oral transmission, and oral transmission is in itself evi- 
dence of antiquity. Other indications of oral transmis- 
sion are the liberties taken with accent, as harper, 
battel, ladie, the inaccuracies in rhyme and roughnesses 
in metre, which could be partially disguised by the voice, 
and the memory-easing refrains and stock stanzas. But 
the venerable age of our ballads is best realized through 
the remoteness of the events they record. Occasionally 
we can fix a date to the deed, as for instance it is tolera- 
bly certain that the heroic and ill-fated voyage of Sir 
Patrick Spens took place in 1281. Frequently we can 
determine the period in which a ballad originated, by its 
feudal setting and mediaeval color. The antiquity of our 
oldest ballads, however, is established by the fact that 
similar folk-songs on the same topics are to be found in 
the literatures not only of European countries, especially 
the Scandinavian, but often of Asiatic countries as well. 
Before such groups of strangely kindred ballads, so alike 
in their unlikeness, the mind marvels, sending a lonely 
thought far back to the Oriental dawn-life of our race, 
but hazards no assertion. The ballads in this collection, 
for which equivalents have thus far been discovered in 
the folk-lore of Continental Europe, or of Asia, or of both, 
are the following : 

Alison Gross. 

A Lyke-Wake Dirge. 

Edward, Edward. * 

Etin the Forester. (Hynd Etin.) 



INTRODUCTION. XV \ 

,1 

Fair Annie. \ 

Fine Flowers i' the Valley. (The Cruel Brother.) j 

Hugh of Lincoln. (Sir Hugh, or the Jew's Daughter.) 1 

Katharine Janfarie. (Catharine Johnstone.) : 

Kempion. (Kem^D Owain.) I 

Lady Isobel and the Elf -Knight. (May Colvin.) (Fause Sir j 

John.) (The Water o' Wearie's Well.) \ 
Lord Ronald. (Lord Randal.) (AVillie Doo.) 

Lord Thomas and Fair Annet. (Lord Thomas and Fair -. 

Ellinor.) (Sweet Willie and Fair Annie.) (The Nut- - 

Brown Bride.) " 
Riddles Wisely Expounded. 
The Douglas Tragedy. (Earl Brand.) 

The Elfin Knight. (The Fairy Knight.) (Lord John.) ^ 

(The Deil's Courtship.) i 

The Twa Sisters o' Binnorie. (The Cruel Sister.) (The \ 

Miller and the King's Daughter.) (The Bonnie Mill- ' 

dams of Binnorie.) : 

Young Beichan. (Young Bekie.) (Lord Bateman.) (Lord j 

Beichan and Susie Pye.) i 

The mere enumeration of these brave old ballads \ 

calls up the picture of the wandering bards who for i 

generations passed them down from lip to lip. Before i 

the imagination passes j 

*' Each Caledonian minstrel true, } 

Dressed in his plaid and bonnet blue, j 

With harp across his shoulders slung, i 

And music murmuring round his tongue." \ 

Fearless children of nature thesie strolling poets were, ! 

even as the songs they sang. \ 



xvi INTRODUCTION. 

" Little recked they, our bai-ds of old, 
Of autunm's showers, or winter's cold. 
Sound slept they on the 'nighted hill, 
Lulled by the winds, or bubbling rill, 
Curtained within the winter cloud, 
The heath their couch, the sky their shroud ; 
Yet theirs the strains that touch the heart, — 
Bold, rapid, wild, and void of art." 

The value and hence the dignity of the minstrel's 
profession declined with the progress of the printing- 
press in popular favor, and the character of the gleenien 
suffered in consequence. This was more marked in 
England than in Scotland. Indeed, the question has 
been raised, as to whether there ever existed a class of 
Englishmen who were both ballad-singers and ballad- 
makers. This was one of the points at issue between 
those eminent antiquarians. Bishop Percy and Mr. 
Eitson, in the last century. Dr. Percy had defined the 
English minstrels as an "order of men in the middle 
ages, who subsisted by the arts of poetry and music, and 
sung to the harp the verses which they themselves com- 
posed." The inflammable Joseph Eitson, whose love of 
an honest ballad goes far to excuse him for his lack 
of loving demeanor toward the unfaithful editor of the 
Reliques, pounced down so fiercely upon this definition, 
contending that, however applicable to Icelandic skalds 
or Norman trouveres or Provencal troubadours, it was 
altogether too flattering for the vagabond fiddlers of 
England, roughly trolling over to tavern audiences the 
ballads borrowed from their betters, that the dismayed 
bishop altered his last clause to read, " verses composed 
by themselves or others." 



INTRODUCTION. XVll 



Sir Walter Scott sums up this famous quarrel with his 
characteristic good-humor. " The debate," he says, " re- 
sembles the apologue of the gold and silver shield. Dr. 
Percy looked on the minstrel in the palmy and exalted 
state to which, no doubt, many were elevated by their 
talents, like those who possess excellence in the fine arts 
in the present day ; and Kitson considered the reverse 
of the medal, when the poor and wandering gleeman 
was glad to purchase his bread by singing his ballads at 
the ale-house, wearing a fantastic habit, and latterly 
sinking into a mere crowder upon an untuned fiddle, 
accompanying his rude strains with a ruder ditty, the 
helpless associate of drunken revellers, and marvellously 
afraid of the constable and parish beadle." 

There is proof enough that, by the reign of Elizabeth, 
the printer was elbowing the minstrel out into the 
gutter. In Scotland the strolling bard was still not 
without honor, but in the sister country we iind him de- 
nounced by ordinance together with " rogues, vagabonds, 
and sturdy beggars." The London stalls were fed by 
Grub-street authors with penny ballads — trash for the 
greater part — printed in black-letter on broadsides. 
Many of these precious productions were collected into 
small miscellanies, known as Garlands, in the reign of 
James I. ; but few of the genuine old folk-songs found 
a refuge in print. Yet they still lived on in corners of 
England and Scotland, where "the spinsters and the 
knitters in the sun " crooned over half -remembered lays 
to peasant children playing at their feet. 

In 1723 a collection of English ballads, made up 



X Vlll INTR OD VCTION. 

largely, though not entirely, of stall-copies, was issued 
by an anonymous editor, not a little ashamed of himself 
because of his interest in so unworthy a subject; for 
although Dryden and Addison had played the man and 
given kindly entertainment — the one in his Miscellany 
Poems, the other in The Spectator — to a few ballad- 
gypsies, yet poetry in general, that most " flat, stale, and 
unprofitable " poetry of the early and middle eighteenth 
century, disdained all fellowship with the unkempt, 
wandering tribe. 

In the latter half of this century, however, occurred 
the great event in the history of ballad literature. The 
last son of the ancient house of Percy — a name rich 
with memories of " Otterburn " and " Chevy Chase " — 
being 'on a visit to his " worthy friend, Humphrey Pitt, 
Esq., then living at Shiffnal in Shropshire," had the 
glorious good luck to hit upon an old folio manuscript 
of ballads and romances. "I saw it," writes Percy, 
" lying dirty on the floor under a Bureau in ye Parlour ; 
being used by the Maids to light the fire." 

" A scrubby, shabby paper book " it may have been, 
with some leaves torn half away and others lacking 
altogether, but it was a genuine ballad manuscript, in 
handwriting of about the year 1650, and Percy, realiz- 
ing that the worthy Mr. Pitt was feeding his parlor fire 
with very expensive fuel, begged the tattered volume of 
his host and bore it proudly home, where with presump- 
tuous pen he revised and embellished and otherwise, all 
innocently, maltreated the noble old ballads until he 
deemed, although with grave misgivings, that they 



INTR OD UCTION. Xix 

would not too violently shock the polite taste of the 
eighteenth century. The eighteenth century, wearied 
to death of its own politeness, worn out by the heartless 
elegance of Pope and the insipid sentimentality of Prior, 
gave these fresh, simple melodies an unexpected wel- 
come, even in the face of the reigning king of letters. Dr. 
Johnson, who forbade them to come to court. But good 
poems are not slain by bad critics, and the old ballads, 
despite the burly doctor's displeasure, took henceforth a 
recognized place in English literature. Herd's delightful 
collection of Scottish songs and ballads, wherein are 
gathered so many of those magical refrains, the rough 
ore of Burns' fine gold — " Green grow the rashes 0," 
" Should auld acquaintance be forgot," " For the sake o' 
somebody," — soon followed, and Ritson, while ever 
slashing away at poor Percy, often for his minstrel 
theories, more often for his ballad emendations, and 
most often for his holding back the original folio 
manuscript from publication, appeared himself as a 
collector and antiquarian of admirable quality. Mean- 
while Walter Scott, still in his schoolboy days, had 
chanced upon a copy of the Eeliques, and had fallen in 
love with ballads at first sight. All the morning long 
he lay reading the book beneath a huge platanus-tree 
in his aunt's garden. "The summer day sped onward so 
fast," he says, " that notwithstanding the sharp appetite 
of thirteen, I forgot the hour of dinner, was sought for 
with anxiety, and was found still entranced in my intel- 
lectual banquet. To read and to remember was in this 
instance the same thing, and henceforth I overwhelmed 



XX INTRODUCTION. 

my school-fellows and all who would hearken to me, 
with tragical recitations from the ballads of Bishop 
Percy. The first time, too, I could scrape a few shillings 
together, which were not common occurrences with me, 
I bought unto myself a copy of these beloved volumes, 
nor do I believe I ever read a book half so frequently, 
or with half the enthusiasm." 

The later fruits of that schoolboy passion were gar- 
nered in Scott^s original ballads, metrical romances, and 
no less romantic novels, all so picturesque with feudal 
lights and shadows, so pure with chivalric sentiment ; 
but an earlier result was The Minstrelsy of the Scottish 
Border, a collection of folk-songs gleaned in vacation 
excursions from pipers and shepherds and old peasant 
women of the border districts, and containing, with other 
ballads, full forty-three previously unknown to print, 
among them some of our very best. Other poet col- 
lectors — Motherwell and Aytoun — followed where 
Scott had led, Scott having been himself preceded by 
Allan Ramsay, who so early as 1724 had included several 
old ballads, freely retouched, in his Evergreen and Tea- 
Tahle Miscellany. Nor were there lacking others, poets 
in ear and heart if not in pen, who went up and down 
the country-side, seeking to gather into books the old 
heroic lays that were already on the point of perishing 
from the memories of the people. Meanwhile Ritson's 
shrill cry for the publication of the original Percy man- 
uscript was taken up in varying keys again and again, 
until in our own generation the echoes on our own side of 
the water grew so persistent that with no small difficulty 



INTRODUCTION. XXl 

the much-desired end was actually attained. The owners 
of the folio having been brought to yield their slow 
consent, our richest treasure of Old English song, for so 
perilously long a period exposed to all the hazards that 
beset a single manuscript, is safe in print at last and 
open to the inspection of us all. Professor Child, our 
first American authority on ballad-lore, and Mr. Furnivall, 
that indefatigable scholar whose very name carries a 
wave of Old English enthusiasm with it, would each 
yield the other the honor of this achievement for which 
no ballad-lover can speak too many thanks. 

A list of our principal ballad collections may be 
found of practical convenience, as well as of literary 
interest. Passing by the Miscellanies, Percy, as becomes 
one of his gallant lineage, leads the van. 

.Percy's Reliques of Ancient English Poetiy. 1765. 

Hercrs Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs, Heroic Ballads, 
etc. 1769. 

Ritson's Ancient Popular Poetry. 1791. 
. Ritson's Ancient Songs and Ballads. 1792. 
-Ritson's Robin Hood. 1795. 

. Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. 1802-1803. 
'Jamieson's Popular Ballads and Songs. 1806. 

Finlay's Scottish Historical and Romantic Ballads. 1808. 

Sharpe's Ballad Book. 1824. 

Maidment's North Countrie Garland. 1824. 

Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads. 1827. 

Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern. 1827. 

Buchan's Ancient Ballads and Songs of the North of Scot- 
land. 1828. • 

Chambers' Scottish Ballads. 1829. 



XXll INTRODUCTION. 

Whitelaw's Book of Scottish Ballads. 1845. 
CliilcVs English and Scottish Ballads. 1857-1858. 
Aytoun's Ballads of Scotland. 1858. 
Maidment's Scotish Ballads and Songs. 1868. 
Bishop Percy's Folio Manuscript. 1868. 
Child's English and Scottish Popular Ballads (issued in 
parts) . 1882-. 

It is a rare experience nowadays to meet with Dr. 
Johnson, — with a critic who, knowing the early folk- 
songs of our literature, fails to love them. Far more 
commonly we encounter the opinion that the only bal- 
lad is an old ballad ; that the nineteenth century pre- 
tends in vain to the strolling minstrel's art : that the 
frank, unconscious ballad-note has passed from our 
poetry forever. At this point there is no resort but a 
definition. If we call a ballad a narrative poem, true to 
the simplest phases of nature, art, and life, we have 
something on which to build an argum.ent for the possi- 
bility of modern ballads. But if we insist on that 
impalpable yet positive element, strange and sweet and 
far away, warm as heart-blood, deeper than design, — 
that element inherent in our old ballads from the very 
peculiarity of their origin and growth ; that quintessence 
of vitality concentrated from the many voices of long 
ago by which they have been sung into their present 
forms ; that wistful, woeful beauty flushed across them 
from the human faith and sympathy of all these listen- 
ing generations, we obviously insist on what no individ- 
ual author can impart. A short list of selected modern 
poems that may claim, if any such may claim, to be 



INTRODUCTION. xxiii 

ranked as ballads, is subjoined, and the discussion passed 
over to whomsoever cares to take it up. 

Scott's The Gray Brother. 

Motherwell's The Ettin o' Sillarwood. 

Aytoun's The Execution of Montrose. 

Hogg's The Witch of Fife. 

MacDonald's The Earl o' Quarter-deck. 

Coleridge's The Rime of the Ancient IVIariner.'-' 

Wordsworth's Lucy Gray. 

Keats' La Belle Dame sans Merci. 

Macaulay's The Battle of Naseby. 

Rossetti's The King's Tragedy. 

Buchanan's The Ballad of Judas Iscariot. 

Jean Ingelow's Win Stanley. 

Swinburne's The Bride's Tragedy. 

Edwin Arnold's The Rajput Nurse. 

Browning's Herve Riel. 

Tennyson's The Revenge : A Battle of the Fleet. 

Lanier's Revenge of Hamish. 

Longfellow's The Wreck of the Hesperus. 

Lowell's The Courtin'. 

Whittier's Telling the Bees. 

The methods of ballad-work in the class-room must 
of course vary with the amount of time at disposal, th-^ 
extent of library privilege, the age and attainment of 
the students, and, above all, the inclination of the 
teacher. For more ambitious topical study, queries will 
readily suggest themselves as to the comparison between 
the English ballads and the Scotch and Irish ; between 
our British ballads, as a whole, and the Scandinavian, 



XXIV 



INTRODUCTION. 



Teutonic, Komance, and Sclavonic; as to the nature 
of balladry in the Greek and Latin literatures ; the 
character of popular song in the Orient, and the common 
Aryan stock of ballad material. Where the requisite 
books are at hand, it may be found a profitable exercise 
to commit a ballad to each student, who shall hunt down 
the various English versions, and, as far as his power 
reaches, the foreign equivalents. A wide field for inves- 
tigation is afforded by the Kobin Hood cycle of legendary 
lays ; and it is of interest, too, to trace the deteriora- 
tion of the Arthurian story. 

But specific topical study can be put to advantage on 
the ballads themselves, the fifty collected here furnish- 
ing abundant data for discussion and illustration in regard 
to such subjects as the following : — 



Ballad Language 



Ballad Music 



Ballad Structure 



Early English and 
Scottish Life as 
reflected in the 
Ballads 



Teutonic. 
Dialectic. 
Idiomatic. 

Ballad Stanza 



Irregularities in 



Significance of Ir- 
regularities. 
Introduction. 
Dramatic Element. 
Involution of Plot. 
Proportion of Ornament. 
Conclusion. 
Government. 
Family. 
Employments. 
Pastimes. 
Manners. 



Description. 

Peculiar Fitness. 

Variations. 

Metre. 

Accent. 

Rhyme. 



INTRODUCTION. 



XXV 



Early English and Scot- f Aspirations. 

tish Character as Re- < Principles. 

fleeted in the Ballads [ Tastes. 
Democracy in the Ballads. 
Nature in the Ballads. 
Color in the Ballads. 
History and Science in the Ballads. 
Manhood. in the Ballads. 
Womanhood in the Ballads. 
Childhood in the Ballads. 
Standards of Morality in the Ballads. 



Religion in the Bal- ■ 
lads 

Figures of Speech in ! 
the Ballads | 

Stock Material of the 
Ballads 



Pagan Element 
Christian Element 



Catholic. 
Protestant. 



Humor of the Bal 

lads 
Pathos of the Bal- ( 

lads ( 

Ballads as a Revelation 

Beauty of the Bal- J 
lads j 

Truth of the Bal- { 
lads 1 



Enumeration. 

General Character. 

Proportion. 

Epithets. 

Numbers. 

Refrains. 

Stanzas. 

Situations. 

In what consisting. 

At what directed. 

By what elicited. 

How expressed. 

of Permanent English Character' sties. 

In Form. 

In Matter. 

In Spirit. 

To Art. 

To Life. 



A more delicate, difficult, and valuable variety of study 
may be put upon the ballads, taken one by one, with, 
the aim of impressing upon a class the very simplicity 
of strength and sweetness in this wild minstrelsy. The 



XXVI INTROBXlCTIOiT. 

mere recitation or reading of the ballad, with such 
unacademic and living comment as shall quicken the 
routine-cramped imagination of the average student to 
leap into a vivid realization of the swiftly shifted scenes, 
the listless sympathy to follow with eager comprehen- 
sion the crowded, changing passions, the whole nature to 
thrill with the warm pulse of the rough old poem, is 
perhaps the surest way to drive the ballad home, trusting 
it to work within the student toward that spirit-devel- 
opment which is more truly the end of education than 
mental storage. For these primitive folk-songs which 
have done so much to educate the poetic sense in the 
fine peasantry of Scotland, — that peasantry which has 
produced an Ayrshire Ploughman and an Ettrick Shep- 
herd, — are assuredly, 

*' Thanks to the human heart by which we live," 

among the best educators that can be brought into our 
schoolrooms. 



BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION, 



BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION. 



THE WEE WEE MAN. 

As I was wa'king all alane, 

Between a water and a wa', 
There I spy'd a wee wee man, 

And he was the least that e'er I saw. 

His legs were scant a shathmont's length, 
And sma' and limber was his thie. 

Between his e'en there was a span. 

And between his shoulders there was three. 

He took up a meikle stane, 

And he flang't as far as I could see ; 

Though I had been a AVallace wight, 
T couldna liften't to my knee. 

^' wee wee man, but thou be Strang ! 

tell me where thy dwelling be ? " 
" My dwelling's down at yon bonny bower ; 

will you go with me and see ? " 

On we lap, and awa' we rade. 

Till we cam' to yon bonny green ; 

We lighted down for to bait our horse, 
And out there cam' a lady sheen. 



BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION. 

Four and twenty at her back, 

And they were a' clad out in green, 

Though the King o' Scotland had been there, 
The warst o' them might hae been his Queen. 

On we lap, and awa' we rade, 

Till we cam' to yon bonny ha', 
Where the roof was o' the beaten gowd. 

And the floor was o' the crystal a'. 

When we cam' to the stair foot, 

Ladies were dancing, jimp and sma' ; 

But in the twinkling of an e'e. 
My wee wee man was clean awa'. 



TAMLANE. 



"0 1 FORBID ye, maidens a'. 

That bind in snood your hair. 
To come or gae by Carterhaugh, 
For young Tamlane is there." - 

Fair Janet sat within her bower. 
Sewing her silken seam, 

And fain would be at Carterhaugh, 
Amang the leaves sae green. 



TAMLANE. 

She let the seam fa' to her foot, 

The needle to her tae, 
And she's aw a' to Carterhaugh, 

As quickly as she may. 

She's prink' dhersell, and preen'd hersell, 

By the ae light o' the moon, 
And she's awa to Carterhaugh, 

As fast as she could gang. 

She hadna pu'd a red red rose, 

A rose but barely three, 
When up and starts the young Tamlane, 

Says, '' Lady, let a-be ! 

^^ What gars ye pu' the rose, Janet ? 
What gars ye break the tree ? 
Or why come ye to Carterhaugh, 
Without the leave o' me ? " 

"01 will pu' the flowers," she said, 
" And I will break the tree ; 
And I will come to Carterhaugh, 
And ask na leave of thee." 

But when she cam' to her father's ha'. 

She looked sae wan and pale. 
They thought the lady had gotten a fright. 

Or with sickness sair did ail. 



BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION. 

Janet has kilted her green kirtle 

A little aboon her knee, 
And she has snooded her yellow hair 

A little aboon her bree, 
And she's awa to Carterhaugh, 

As fast as she can hie. 

She hadna pu'd a rose, a rose, 

A rose but barely twae, 
When up there started young Tamlane, 

Says, " Lady, thou pu's nae mae." 

" Now ye maun tell the truth," she said, 
A word ye maunna lie ; 
0, were ye ever in haly chapel. 
Or sained in Christentie ? " 

" Tlie truth I'll tell to thee, Janet, 
A word I winna lie ; 
I was ta'en to the good church-door. 
And sained as well as thee. 

" Eandolph, Earl Murray, was my sire, 
Dunbar, Earl March, was thine ; 
We loved when we were children small. 
Which yet you well may mind. 

" When I was a boy just turned of nine. 
My uncle sent for me. 
To hunt, and hawk, and ride with him. 
And keep him companie, 



TAAfLANE. 

" There came a wind out of the north, 
A sharp wind and a snell, 

And a dead sleep came over me, 
And f rae my horse I fell ; 

The Queen of Fairies she was there, 
And took me to hersell. 

^' And we, that live in Fairy -land, 
Nae sickness know nor pain ; 
I quit my body when I will, 
And take to it again. 

" I quit my body when I please, 
Or unto it repair ; 
We can inhabit at our ease 
In either earth or air. 

" Our shapes and size we can convert 
To either large or small ; 
An old nut-shell's the same to us 
As is the lofty hall. 

" We sleep in rose-buds soft and sweet, 
We revel in the stream ; 
We wanton lightly on the wind, 
Or glide on a sunbeam. 

" And never would I tire, Janet, 

In fairy-land to dwell ; 
But aye, at every seven years. 

They pay the teind to hell ; 
And I'm sae fat and fair of flesh, 

I fear 'twill be mysell ! 



BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION. 

" The morn at e'en is Hallowe'en ; 

Our fairy court will ride, 
Through England and through Scotland baith, 

And through the warld sae wide, 
And if that ye wad borrow me, 

At Miles Cross ye maun bide. 

" And ye maun gae to the Miles Cross, 
Between twelve hours and one, 
Tak' haly water in your hand, 
And cast a compass roun'." 

" But how shall I thee ken, Tamlane, 
And how shall I thee knaw, 
Amang the throng o' fairy folk, « 

The like I never saw ? " 

" The first court that comes alang, 
Ye'll let them a' pass by ; 
The neist court that comes alang 
Salute them reverently. 

" The third court that comes alang 
Is clad in robes o' green, 
And it's the head court of them a', 
And in it rides the Queen. 

" And I upon a milk-white steed, 
Wi' a gold star in my croun ; 
Because I am a christen'd knight 
They give me that renoun. 



TAMLANE. 

^' First let pass the black, Janet, 
And syne let pass the broun. 
But grip ye to the milk-white steed, 
And pii' the rider doun. 

" My right hand will be glov'd, Janet, 
My left hand will be bare, 
And thae's the tokens I gie thee ; 
Nae doubt I will be there. 

" Ye'll seize upon me with a spring, 
And to the ground I'll fa', 
And then you'll hear an elrish cry 
That Tamlane is awa'. 

" They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, 
An adder and a snake ; 
But haud me fast, let me not pass. 
Gin ye would be my maik. 

" They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, 
An adder and an aske ; 
They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, 
A bale that burns fast. 

" They'll shape me in your arms, Janet, 
A dove, but and a swan : 
And last they'll shape me in your arms 

A mother-naked man : 
Cast your green mantle over me — 
And sae shall I be wan ! " 



10 BALLADS OF SUPEBSTITION. 

Gloomy, gloomy was the night, 

And eerie was the way. 
As fair Janet, in her green mantle, 

To Miles Cross she did gae. 

About the dead hour o' the night 
She heard the bridles ring, 

And Janet was as glad o' that 
As ony earthly thing. 

There's haly water in her hand, 
She casts a compass round ; 

And straight she sees a fairy band 
Come riding o'er the mound. 

And first gaed by the black, black steed, 
And then gaed by the broun ; 

But fast she gript the milk-white steed. 
And pu'd the rider doun. 

She pu'd him frae the milk-white steed. 

And loot the bridle fa' ; 
And up there raise an elrish cry ; 

" He's won amang us a' ! " 

They shaped him in fair Janet's arms 
An aske, but and an adder ; 

She held him fast in every shape. 
To be her ain true lover. 



TAMLANE. 11 

They shaped him in her arms at last 

A mother-naked man, 
She cuist her mantle over him, 

And sae her true love wan. 

Up then spake the Queen o' Fairies, 
Out of a bush o' broom : 
" She that has borrowed young Tamlane, 
Has gotten a stately groom ! " 

Up then spake the Queen o' Fairies, 
Out of a bush of rye : 
" She's ta'en away the bonniest knight 
In a' my companie ! 

" But had I kenned, Tamlane," she says, 
'^ A lady wad borrow thee, 
I wad hae ta'en out thy twa gray e'en, 
Put in twa e'en o' tree ! 

^' Had I but kenned, Tamlane," she says, 
" Before ye came frae hame, 
I wad hae ta'en out your heart of flesh. 
Put in a heart o' stane ! 

" Had I but had the wit yestreen 
That I hae coft this day, 
I'd hae paid my teind seven times to hell. 
Ere you'd been won away ! " 



12 BALLADS OF SUPER STITIOJ^. 



TRUE THOMAS. 

True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank ; 

A ferlie he spieS with his e'e ; 
And there he saw a laclye bright, 

Come riding down by the Eildon tree. 

Her skirt was o' the grass-green silk, 
Her mantle o' the velvet fine. 

At ilka tett of her horse's mane, 
Hung fifty siller bells and nine. 



True Thomas he pu'd aff his cap, 
And louted low down to his knee ; 

All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven ! 
For thy peer on earth I never did see." 

no, no, Thomas," she said, 

"That name does not belang to me ; 

I'm but the Queen of fair Elfland, 
That hither am come to visit thee ! 



" Harp and carp, Thomas," she said, 
" Harp and carp alang wi' me ; 
And if ye daur to kiss my lips. 
Sure of your bodie I shall be ! " 



TBUE THOMAS. 13 

'^Betide me weal, betide me woe, 

That weird shall never daunton me ! " 
Syne he has kissed her rosy lips, 
All underneath the Eildon tree. 

" Now ye maun go wi' me/' she said, 
" True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me ; 
And ye maun serve me seven years. 

Through weal or woe as may chance to be." 

She's mounted on her milk-white steed, 

She's ta'en True Thomas up behind ; 
And aye, whene'er her bridle rang. 

The steed gaed swifter than the wind. 

they rade on, and further on, 

The steed gaed swifter than the wind ; 

Until they reached a desert wide. 
And living land was left behind. 

" Light down, light down now, Thomas," she said, 
"And lean your head upon my knee ; 
Light down, and rest a little space. 
And I will show you ferlies three. 

" see ye na that braid braid road, 
That stretches o'er the lily leven ? 
That is the path of wickedness. 

Though some call it the road to heaven. 



14 BALLADS OF SUPEBSTITION. 

" And see ye na yon narrow road, 

Sae thick beset wi' thorns and briers ? 
That is the path of righteousness, 
Though after it but few enquires. 

" And see ye na yon bonny road, 

That winds about the ferny brae ? 
That is the way to fair Elfland, 

Where you and I this night maun gae. 

" But, Thomas, ye maun hauld your tongue, 
Whatever you may hear or see ; 
For if ye speak word in Elfin land, 

Ye'U ne'er win back to your ain countrie ! " 

they rade on, and further on. 

And they waded through rivers aboon the knee. 
And they saw neither sun nor moon. 

But they heard the roaring of a sea. 

It was mirk mirk night, there was nae stern-light, 
And they waded through red blude to the knee ; 

For a' the blude that's shed on earth, 

Rins through the springs o' that countrie. 

Syne they came to a garden green. 
And she pu'd an apple frae a tree — 
" Take this for thy wages, True Thomas ; 

It will give thee the tongue that can never lie ! " 



THE ELFIN KNIGHT. 15 

" My tongue is my ain ! " True Thomas he said, 
" A gudely gift ye wad gie to me ! 
I neither dought to buy nor sell, 
At fair or tryste where I may be. 

" I dought neither speak to prince nor peer, 
Nor ask for grace from fair ladye ! " 

"Now hauld thy tongue, Thomas ! " she said 
" For as I say, so must it be." 

He has gotten a coat of the even claith, ' 
And a pair o' shoon of the velvet green ; 

And till seven years were come and gane. 
True Thomas on earth was never seen. 



THE ELFIN KNIGHT. 

The Elfin knight stands on yon hill ; 

(Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,) 
Blawing his horn baith loud and shrill, 

(And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.) 

"If I had the horn that I hear blawn, 
(Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,) 
And the bonnie knight that blaws the horn ! " 
(And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.) 



16 BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION. 

She had na sooner thae words said ; 

(Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,) 
Than the Elfin knight cam' to her side : 

(And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.) 

"Thou art too young a maid," quoth he, 
(Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,) 

" Married wi' me you ill wad be." 

(And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.) 

" I hae a sister younger than me ; 
(Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,) 
And she was married yesterday." 

(And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.) 

" Married to me ye shall be nane ; 
(Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,) 
Till ye mak' me a sark without a seam ; 
(And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.) 

" And ye maun shape it, knifeless, sheerless, 
(Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,) 
And ye maun sew it, needle-threedless ; 
(And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.) 

" And ye maun wash it within a well, 
(Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,) 
Whaur dew never wat, nor rain ever fell, 
(And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.) 



THE ELFIN KNIGHT. 17 

"And ye maun dry it upon a thorn, 
(Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,) 
That never budded sin' Adam was born." 
(And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.) 

" gin that kindness T do for thee ; 
(Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,) 
There's something ye maun do for me. 
(And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.) 

"I hae an acre o' gude lea-land, 
(Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,) 
Between the saut sea and the strand ; 

(And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.) 

" Ye'll plough it wi' your blawing horn, 

(Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,) 
And ye will sow it wi' pepper corn, 

(And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.) 

" And ye maun harrow't wi' a single tyne, 
(Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,) 
And shear it wi' a sheep's shank bane ; 
(And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.) 

" And bigg a cart o' lime and stane, 
(Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw.) 
And Robin Eedbreast maun trail it hame, 
(And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.) 



18 BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION. 

"And ye maun barn it in a mouse-hole, 
(Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,) 
And ye maun thresh it in your shoe sole ; 
(And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.) 

" And ye maun winnow it wi' your loof, 

(Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,) 

And ye maun sack it in your glove ; 

(And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.) 

'' And ye maun dry it, but candle or coal, 
(Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,) 
And ye maun grind it, but quern or mill ; 
) (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.) 

" When ye hae done, and linish'd your wark, 
(Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,) 
Then come to me, and ye'se get your sark ! " 
(And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.) 



LADY ISOBEL AND THE ELP-KNIGHT. 

There cam' a bird out o' a bush. 

On water for to dine, 
An' sighing sair, says the king's daughter, 

" w^ae's this heart o' mine ! " 

He's taen a harp into his liand. 

He's harped them all asleep, 
Except it was the kiug'sMaughter, 

AVho ae wink couldna get. 



LADY ISOBEL AND THE ELF-KNIGHT. 19 

He's luppen on his berry-brown steed, 

Taen 'er on beliind liimsell, 
Then baith rede down to that water 

That they ca' Wearie's Well. 

" Wide in, wide in, my lady fair, 
Nae harm shall thee befall ; 
Aft times hae I water'd my steed 
Wi' the water o' Wearie's Well." 

The first step that she stepped in, 

She stepped to the knee ; 
And sighing sair, says this lady fair, 

" This water's nae for me." 

" Wide in, wide in, my lady fair, 
Nae harm shall thee befall ; 
Aft times hae I water'd my steed 
Wi' the water o' Wearie's Well." 

The neist step that she stepped in. 
She stepped to the middle ; 
" 0," sighend says this lady fair, 
" I've wat my gowden girdle." 

" Wide in, wide in, my lady fair, 
Nae harm shall thee befall ; 
Aft times hae I water'd my steed 
Wi' the water o' Wearie's Well." 



20 BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION^ 

The neist step that she stepped in, 
She stepped to the chin ; 
" 0," sighend says this lady fair, 
" I'll wade nae f arer in." 

" Seven king's-daughters I've drownd here. 
In the water o' Wearie's Well, 
And I'll mak' you the eight o' them. 
And ring the common bell." 

" Sin' I am standing here," she says, 
^' This dowie death to die, 
Ae kiss o' your comely mouth 
I'm sure wad comfort me." 

He's louted him o'er his saddle bow, 

To kiss her cheek and chin ; 
She's taen him in her arms twa, 

An' thrown him headlong in. 

" Sin' seven king's-daughters ye've drownd here, 
In the water o' Wearie's Well, 
I'll mak' you bridegroom to them a'. 
An' ring the bell mysell." 



TOM THUMB E. 21 



TOM THUMBE. 

In Arthurs court Tom Thumbe did live, 

A man of mickle might, 
Tlie best of all the table round, 

And eke a doughty knight : 

His stature but an inch in height. 

Or quarter of a span ; 
Then thinke you not this little knight, 

Was prov'd a valiant man ? 

His father was a plow-man plaine, 

His mother milkt the cow, 
But yet the way to get a sonne 

This couple knew not how, 

Untill such time this good old man 

To learned Merlin goes, 
And there to him his deepe desires 

In secret manner showes, 

How in his heart he wisht to have 

A childe, in time to come, 
To be his heire, though it might be 

No bigger than his Thumbe. 



22 BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION. 

Of which old ^Merlin thus foretold, 
That he his wish should have, 

And so this sonne of stature small 
The charmer to him gave. 

No blood nor bones in him should be. 

In shape and being such. 
That men should heare him speake, but not 

His wandring shadow touch : 

But all unseene to goe or come 

Whereas it pleasd him still ; 
And thus King Arthurs Dwarfe was born, 

To fit his fathers will : 



And in foure minutes grew so fast, 

That he became so tall 
As was the plowmans thumbe in height. 

And so they did him call 

Tom Thumbe, the which the Fayry-Queene 

There gave him to his name. 
Who, with her traine of Goblins grim, 

Unto his christning came. 

Whereas she cloath'd him richly brave, 

In garments fine and faire. 
Which lasted him for many yeares 

In seemely sort to weare. 



TOM THUMBE. 23 

His hat made of an oaken leafe, 

His shirt a spiders web, 
Both light and soft for those his limbes 

That were so smally bred ; 

His hose and doublet thistle downe, 

Togeather weav'd full fine ; 
His stockins of an apple greene, 

Made of the outward rine ; 

His garters were two little haires, 

Pull'd from his mothers eye, 
His bootes and shooes a mouses skin, 

There tand most curiously. 

Thus, like a lustie gallant, he 

Adventured forth to goe, 
With other children in the streets 

His pretty trickes to show. 

Where he for counters, pinns, and points. 

And cherry stones did play, 
Till he amongst those gamesters young 

Had loste his stocke away, 

Yet could he soone renew the same, 

When as most nimbly he 
Would dive into their cherry-baggs, 

And there partaker be, 



24 BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION. 

Unseene or felt by any one, 

Untill a scholler shut 
This nimble youth into a boxe, 

Wherein his pins he put. 

Of whom to be reveng'd, he tooke 
(In mirth and pleasant game) 

Black pots, and glasses, which he hung 
Upon a bright sunne-beam. 

The other boyes to doe the like, 
In pieces broke them quite ; 

For which they were most soundly whipt, 
Whereat he laught outright. 

And so Tom Thumbe restrained was 
From these his sports and play, 
. And by his mother after that 
Compel'd at home to stay. 

Whereas about a Christmas time. 

His father a hog had kil'd, 
And Tom would see the puddings made, 

For fear they should be spil'd. 

He sate upon the pudding-boule, 

The candle for to hold ; 
Of which there is unto this day 

A pretty pastime told : 



TOM THUMBS. 25 

For Tom fell in, and could not be 

For ever after found, 
For in the blood and batter he 

AVas strangely lost and drownd. 

Where searching long, but all in vaine, 

His mother after that 
Into a pudding thrust her sonne, 

Instead of minced fat. 

Which pudding of the largest size, 

Into the kettle throwne, 
Made all the rest to fly thereout, 

As with a whirle-wind blowne. 

For so it tumbled up and downe, 

Within the liquor there, 
As if the devill had been boiled ; 

Such was his mothers feare, 

That up she took the pudding strait, 

And gave it at the door 
Unto a tinker, which from thence 

In his blacke budget bore. 

From which Tom Thumbe got loose at last 

And home return'd againe : 
Where he from following dangers long 

In safety did remaine. 



26 BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION. 

Now after this, in sowing time, 
His father would him have 

Into the field to drive his plow, 
And thereupon him gave 

A whip made of a barly straw 

To drive the cattle on : 
Where, in a furrow'd land new sowne, 

Poore Tom was lost and gon. 

Now by a raven of great strength 
Away he thence was borne, 

And carried in the carrions beake 
Even like a graine of corne, 

Unto a giants castle top. 
In which he let him fall, 

Where soone the giant swallowed up 
His body, cloathes and all. 

But in his stomach did Tom Thumbs 
So great a rumbling make. 

That neither day nor night he could 
The smallest quiet take, 

Untill the giant had him spewd 
Three miles into the sea. 

Whereas a fish soone tooke him up 
And bore him thence away. 



TOM THUMBE. 27 

Which lusty fish was after caught 

And to king Arthur sent, . 
Where Tom was found, and made his dwarfe, 

Whereas his dayes he spent 

Long time in lively jollity, 

Belov'd of all the court, 
And none like Tom was then esteemed 

Among the noble sort. 

Amongst his deedes of courtship done, 

His highnesse did command. 
That he should dance a galliard brave 

Upon his queenes left hand. 

The which he did, and for the same 

The king his signet gave, 
Which Tom about his middle wore 

Long time a girdle brave. 

Now after this the king would not 

Abroad for pleasure goe. 
But still Tom Thumbe must ride with him, 

Plac'd on his saddle-bow. 

Where on a time when as it rain'd, 

Tom Thumbe most nimbly crept 
In at a button hole, where he 

Within his bosome slept. 



28 BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION. 

And being neere his highnesse heart, 
He crav'd a wealthy boone, 

A liberall gift, the which the king 
Commanded to be done, 

For to relieve his fathers wants, 
And mothers, being old ; 

AVhich was so much of silver coin 
As well his armes could hold. 

And so away goes lusty Tom, 
With three pence on his backe, 

A heavy burthen, which might make 
His wearied limbes to cracke. 

So travelling two dayes and nights. 
With labour and great paine. 

He came into the house whereas 
His parents did remaine ; 

AVhich was but halfe a mile in space 
From good king Arthurs court, 

The which in eight and forty houres 
He went in weary sort. 

But comming to his fathers doore, 
He there such entrance had 

As made his parents both rejoice, 
And he thereat was glad. 



TOM THUMBS. 29 

His mother in her apron tooke 

Her gentle sonne in haste, 
And by the fier side, within 

A walnut shell, him plac'd : 

Whereas they feasted him three dayes 

Upon a hazell nut, 
Whereon he rioted so long 

He them to charges put ; 

And thereupon grew wonderous sicke, 

Through eating too much meate, 
Which was sufficient for a month 

For this great man to eate. 

But now his businesse call'd him foorth, 

King Arthurs court to see. 
Whereas no longer from the same 

He could a stranger be. 

But yet a few small April drops, 

Which settled in the way, 
His long and weary journey forth 

Did hinder and so stay. 

Until his carefull father tooke 

A hollow straw in sport, 
And with one blast blew this his sonne 

Into king Arthurs court. 



30 BALLADS OF SUPEESTITION. 

Now he with tilts and turnaments 

Was entertained so, 
That all the best of Arthurs knights 

Did him much pleasure show. 

As good Sir Lancelot of the Lake, 

Sir Tristram, and sir Guy ; 
Yet none compar'd with brave Tom Thum, 

In knightly chivalry. 

In honor of which noble day, 

And for his ladies sake, 
A challenge in king Arthurs court 

Tom Thumbe did bravely make. 

Gainst whom these noble knights did run. 

Sir Chinon and the rest. 
Yet still Tom Thumbe with matchles might 

Did beare away the best. 

He likewise cleft the smallest haire 

From his faire ladies head. 
Not hurting her whose even hand 

Him lasting honors bred. 

Such were his deeds and noble acts 
In Arthurs court there showne, 

As like in all the world beside 
Was hardly scene or knowne. 



TOM THUMBE. 31 

Now at these sports he toyld himselfe 

That he a sicknesse tooke, 
Through which all manly exercise 

He carelesly forsooke. 

Where lying on his bed sore sicke, 

King Arthurs doctor came, 
With cunning skill, by physicks art, 

To ease and cure the same. 

His body being so slender small. 

This cunning doctor tooke 
A fine prospective glasse, with which 

He did in secret looke 

Into his sickened body downe, 

And therein saw that Death 
Stood ready in his wasted guts 

To sease his vitall breath. 

His armes and leggs consum'd as small 

As was a spiders web. 
Through which his dying houre grew on. 

For all his limbes grew dead. 

His face no bigger than an ants, 

Which hardly could be scene : 
The losse of which renowned knight 

Much griev'd the king and queene. 



32 BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION. 

And so with peace and quietnesse 

He left this earth below ; 
And up into the Fayry Land 

His ghost did fading goe. 

Whereas the Fayry Queene receiv'd 
With heavy mourning cheere, 

The body of this valiant knight 
Whom she esteemed so deere. 

For with her dancing nymphes in greene, 
She fetcht him from his bed, 

With musicke and sweet melody 
So soone as life was fled : 

For whom king Arthur and his knights 
Full forty daies did mourne ; 

And, in remembrance of his name 
That was so strangely borne, 

He built a tomb of marble gray, 
And yeare by yeare did come 

To celebrate the mournefull day, 
And buriall of Tom Thum. 

Whose fame still lives in England here. 
Amongst the countrey sort ; 

Of whom our wives and children small 
Tell tales of pleasant sport. 



KEMP ION. 33 



KEMPION. 



Her mither died when she was young, 

Which gave her cause to make great moan ; 

Her father married the warse woman 
That ever lived in Christendom. 

She served her well wi' foot and hand, 
In everything that she could dee ; 

But her stepmither hated her warse and warse, 
And a powerful wicked witch was she. 



^' Come hither, come hither, ye cannot choose 
And lay your head low on my knee j 
The heaviest weird I will you read 
That ever was read to gay ladye. 

" Mickle dolour sail ye dree 

When o'er the saut seas maun ye swim ; 
And far mair dolour sail ye dree 

When up to Estmere Crags ye climb. 

" I weird ye be a fiery snake ; 

And borrowed sail ye never be, 
Till Kempion, the kingis son, 

Come to the crag and thrice kiss thee. 
Until the warld comes to an end, 

Borrowed sail ye never be ! " 



34 BALLADS OF SUFEESTITION. 

mickle dolour did she dree, 

And aye the saut seas o'er she swam ; 

And far mair dolour did she dree 

On Estmere Crags, when up she clamb. 

And aye she cried on Kempion, 

Gin he would but come to her han' : — 

Now word has gane to Kempion, 
That siccan a beast was in the Ian'. 

" Now by my sooth," said Kempion, 
" This fiery beast I'll gang and see." 

"An' by my sooth," said Segramour, 
"My ae brither, I'll gang wi' thee." 

They twa hae biggit a bonny boat. 

And they hae set her to the sea ; 
But a mile afore they reach'd the shore. 

Around them 'gan the red fire flee. 

The worm leapt out, the worm leapt down. 
She plaited nine times round stock and stane ; 

And aye as the boat cam' to the beach, 
she hae strickit it aff again. 

" Min' how you steer, my brither dear ; 

Keep further aff ! " said Segramour ; 
" She'll drown us deep in the saut, saut sea, 

Or burn us sair, if we come on shore." 



KEMPION. 35 

Syne Kempion has bent an arblast bow, 

And aimed an arrow at her head ; 
And swore, if she didna quit the shore, 

Wi' that same shaft to shoot her dead. 

" Out o' my sty the I winna rise, 

Nor quit my den for the fear o' thee, 
Till Kempion, the kingis son, 

Come to the crag an' thrice kiss me." 

He's louted him o'er the Estmere Crag, 
And he has gi'en that beast a kiss : 

In she swang, and again she cam', 

And aye her speech was a wicked hiss. 

" Out o' my stythe I winna rise, 
An' not for a' thy bow nor thee, 
Till Kempion, the kingis son. 

Come to the crag an' thrice kiss me.'^ 

He's louted him o'er the Estmere Crag, 

And he has gi'en her kisses twa ; 
In she swang, and again she cam', 

The fieriest beast that ever you saw. 

" Out o' my stythe I winna rise, 

Nor quit my den for the fear o' thee. 
Till Kempion, the kingis son, 

Come to the crag an' thrice kiss me." 



36 BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION. 

He's louted him o'er the lofty crag, 
And he has gi'en her kisses three ; 

In she swang, a loathly worm ; 
An' out she stepped, a fair ladye. 

Nae deeding had this lady fair, 

To keep her body frae the cold ; 
But Kempion took his mantle aff. 

And around his ain true love did fold. 

" An' by my sooth," says Kempion, 

" My ain true love ! — for this is she, — 
They surely had a heart o' stane, 
Could put thee to this misery. 

" was it wer-wolf in the wood, 

Or was it mermaid in the sea, 

Or wicked man, or wile woman. 

My ain true love, that mis-shaped thee ? " 

" It was na wer-wolf in the wood, 
Nor was it mermaid in the sea ; 
But it was my wicked stepmither. 
And wae and weary may she be ! " 

" a heavier weird light her upon 
Than ever fell on wile woman ! 
Her hair sail grow rough, an' her teeth grow lang, 
An' aye upon four feet maun she gang." 



ALISON GROSS. 37 



ALISON GROSS. 



Alison Gross, that lives in yon tower, 
The ugliest witch in the north countrie. 

Has trysted me ae day up till her bower, 
And mony fair speech she made to me. 

She straiked my head, and she kaim'd my hair, 
And she set me down saftly on her knee ; 

Says, " Gin ye will be my lemman sae true, 
Sae mony braw things as I wad you gie." 

She shaw'd me a mantle o' red scarlet, 
Wi' gowden flowers and fringes fine ; 

Says, " Gin ye will be my lemman sae true, 
This gudely gift it sail be thine." 

' Awa', awa', ye ugly witch ! 

Hand far awa', and lat me be ; 

1 never will be your lemman sae true, 

And I wish I were out o' your companie.'' 

She neist brocht a sark o' the saftest silk, 
Weel wrought wi' pearls about the band ; 

Says, " Gin ye will be my ain true-love, 
This gudely gift ye sail command." 



38 BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION. 

She shaw'd me a cup o' the gude red gowd, 

Weel set wi' jewels sae fair to see ; 
Says, " Gin ye will be my lemman sae true, 

This gudely gift I will you gie." 

" Awa', awa', ye ugly witch ! 

Haud far awa', and lat me be ; 
For I wadna ance kiss your ugly mouth 
For a' the gifts that you could gie." 

She's turn'd her richt and round about. 

And thrice she blew on a grass-green liorn ; 

And she sware by the moon, and the stars aboon. 
That she'd gar me rue the day I was born. 

Then out she has ta'en a silver wand. 

And she's turn'd her three times round and round ; 
She's muttered sic words, that my strength it fail'd, 

And I fell down senseless on the ground. 

She's turned me into an ugly worm. 
And gar'd me toddle about the tree ; 

And ay, on ilka Saturday's night, 
Auld Alison Gross, she cam' to me, 

Wi' silver basin, and silver kaim, 

To kaim my headie upon her knee ; 
But or I had kiss'd her ugly mouth, 

I'd rather hae toddled about the tree. 



THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL. 39 

But as it fell out on last Hallowe'en, 

When the Seel}^ Court was ridin' by, 
The Queen lighted down on a gowan bank, 

Nae far frae the tree where I wont to lye. 

She took me up in her milk-white hand. 

And she straiked me three times o'er her knee ; 

She changed me again to my ain proper shape, 
And I nae mair maun toddle about the tree. 



THE WIFE OF USHEH'S WELL. 

There lived a wife at Usher's Well, 
And a wealthy wife was she ; 

She had three stout and stalwart sons, 
And sent them o'er the sea. 

They hadna been a week from her, 

A week but barely ane, 
When word cam' to the carline wife, 

That her three sons were gane. 

They hadna been a week from her, 

A week but barely three, 
When word cam' to the carline wife, 

That her sons she'd never see, 



40 BALLADS OF SUPEJiSTITION. 

" I wish the wind may never cease, 
Nor fashes in the flood, 
Till my three sons come hame to me. 
In earthly flesh and blood ! " 

It fell about the Martinmas, 
When nights are lang and mirk, 

The carline wife's three sons cam' hame, 
And their hats were o' the birk. 

It neither grew in syke nor ditch. 

Nor yet in ony shengh ; 
But at the gates o' Paradise, 

That birk grew fair eneugh. 

"Blow up the fire, now, maidens mine. 
Bring water from the well ! 
For a' my house shall feast this night, 
Sin' my three sons are welL" 

And she has made to them a bed. 
She's made it large and wide ; 

And she's happed her mantle them about, 
Sat down at the bed-side. 

Up then crew the red red cock. 
And up and crew the gray ; 

The eldest to the youngest said, 
"'Tis time we were away." 



A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE. 41 

" The cock doth craw, the day doth daw, 
The chaimerin' worm doth chide ; 
Grin we be miss'd out o' our place, 
A sair pain we maun bide." 

" Lie still, lie still a little wee while, 
Lie still but if we may ; 
Gin my mother should miss us when she wakes, 
She'll go mad ere it be day." 

it's they've ta'en up their mother's mantle, 
And they've hangd it on the pin : 
" lang may ye hing, my mother's mantle, 
Ere ye hap us again ! 

" Fare-ye-weel, my mother dear ! 
Fareweel to barn and byre ! 
And fare-ye-weel, the bonny lass. 
That kindles my mother's fire.'^ 



A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE. 

This ae nighte, this ae nighte, 

Everie nighte and alle. 
Fire, and sleete, and candle-lighte, 

And Christe receive thye saule. 

When thou from hence away art paste, 

Everie nighte and alle. 
To Whinny-muir thou comest at laste, 

And Christe receive thye saule. 



42 BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION. 

If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon, 

Everie nighte and alle, 
Sit thee down and put them on, 

And Christe receive thye saule. 

If hosen and shoon thou ne'er gav'st nane, 

Everie nighte and alle, 
The whinnes shall pricke thee to the bare bane. 

And Christe receive thye saule. 

From Whinny -muir when thou mayst passe, 

Everie nighte and alle, 
To Brigg o' Dread thou coniest at last. 

And Christe receive thye saule. 

Fl-om Brigg o' Dread when thou mayst passe, 

Everie nighte and alle, 
To Purgatory Fire thou comest at last. 

And Christe receive thye saule. 

If ever thou gavest meate or drinke, 

Everie nighte and alle. 
The fire shall never make thee shrinke. 

And Christe receive thye saule. 

If meate or drinke thou ne'er gav'st nane, 

Everie nighte and alle, 
The fire will burne thee to the bare bane, 

And Christe receive thye saule. 



PROUD LADY MARGARET, 43 

This ae nighte, this ae nighte, 

Everie nighte and alle, 
Fire, and sleete, and candle-lighte, 

And Christe receive thye saule. 



PKOUD LADY MAKGARET. 

'TwAs on a night, an evening bright, 

When the dew began to fa'. 
Lady Margaret was walkin' up and doun, 

Looking ower the castle wa'. 

She lookit east, she lookit west, 

To s^ what she could spy, 
When a gallant knight cam' in her sight, 

And to the gate drew nigh. 

" God mak' you safe and free, fair maid, 
God mak' you safe and free ! " 

'' O sae fa' you, ye stranger knight, 
What is your will wi' me ? " 

" It's I am come to this castle. 
To seek the love o' thee ; 
And if ye grant me not your love 
All for your sake I'll die." 



44 BALLADS OF SUPERSTITIOl^. 

" If ye should die for me, young man, 
There's few for ye will maen ; 
For mony a better has died for me, 
Whose graves are growing green.'' 

" winna ye pity me, fair maid, 
winna ye pity me ? 
Hae pity for a courteous knight, 
Whose love is laid on thee." 

" Ye say ye are a courteous knight, 
But I misdoubt ye sair ; 
I think ye're but a miller lad, 
By the white clothes ye wear. 

" But ye maun read my riddle," she said, 
" And answer me questions three ; 
And but ye read them richt," she said, 
" Gae stretch ye out and die. 

" What is the fairest -flower, tell me, 
That grows on muir or dale ? 

And what is the bird, the bonnie bird. 
Sings next the nightingale ? 

And what is the finest thing," she says, 
" That king or queen can wale ? " 

" The primrose is the fairest flower, 
That springs on muir or dale ; 



PROUD LADY MARGARET. 45 

The mavis is the sweetest bird 

Next to the nightingale ; 
And yellow gowd's the finest thing, 

That king or queen can wale." 

" But what is the little coin," she said, 
" Wad buy my castle boun' ? 
And what's the little boat," she said, 
" Can sail the warld all roun' ? " 

" hey, how mony small pennies 

Mak' thrice three thousand poun' ? 
hey, how mony small fishes 
Swim a' the saut sea roun' ? " 

" I think ye are my match," she said, 
" My match, an' something mair ; 
Ye are the first ere got the grant 
Of love frae my father's heir. 

" My father was lord o' nine castles, 

My mither lady o' three ; 

My father was lord o' nine castles, 

And there's nane to heir but me, 

Unless it be Willie, my ae brither. 

But he's far ayont the sea." 

'' If your father's lord o' nine castles. 
Your mither lady o' three ; 
It's I am Willie, your ae brither, 
Was far ayont the sea." 



46 BALLADS OF SUPmiSTITION. 

" If ye be my brither Willie," she said, 
" As I doubt sair ye be, 
This nicht I'll neither eat nor drink, 
But gae alang wi' thee." 

" Ye've owre ill-washen feet, Margaret, 
And owre ill-washen hands, 
And owre coarse robes on your body, 
Alang wi' me to gang. 

" The worms they are my bedfellows. 
And the cauld clay my sheet, 
And the higher that the wind does blaw. 
The sounder do I sleep. 

^' My body's buried in Dunfermline, 
Sae far ayont the sea : 
But day nor night nae rest can I get, 
A' for the pride of thee. 

" Leave aff your pride, Margaret," he says ; 
" Use it not ony mair. 
Or, when ye come where I hae been. 
Ye will repent it sair. 

" Cast aff, cast aff, sister," he says, 
" The gowd band f rae your croun ; 
For if ye gang where I hae been, 
Ye'll wear it laigher doun. 



PROUD LADY MARGARET. 47 

" When ye are in the gude kirk set, 
The gowd pins in yonr hair, 
Ye tak' mair delight in your feckless dress, 
Than in your moruin' prayer. 

" And when ye walk in the kirkyard. 
And in your dress are seen. 
There is nae lady that spies your face, 
But wishes your grave were green. 

" Ye're straight and tall, handsome withal, 
But your pride OAvergangs your wit ; 
If ye do not your ways refrain, 
In Pirie's chair ye'll sit. 

" In Pirie's chair ye'll sit, I say, 
The lowest seat in hell ; 
If ye do not amend your ways. 
It's there that ye maun dwell ! " 

Wi' that he vanished frae her sight, 

In the twinking of an eye ; 
And naething mair the lady saw 

But the gloomy clouds and sky. 



48 BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION. 



THE TWA SISTEES 0' BINNORIE. 

There were twa sisters lived in a bower ; 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
The youngest o' them, she was a flower, 

By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

There cam' a squire frae the west, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
He lo'ed them baith, but the youngest best. 

By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

He courted the eldest wi' glove and ring, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
But he lo'ed the youngest abune a' thing. 

By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

The eldest she was vexed sair, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And sore envied her sister fair, 

By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

The eldest said to the youngest ane, 
Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
" Will ye see our father's ships come in ? " 
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 



THE TWA SISTERS O' BINNORtE. 49 

She's ta'en her by the lily hand ; 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And led her down to the river strand, 

By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

The youngest stood upon a stane ; 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
The eldest cam' and pushed her in, 

By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

" sister, sister, reach your hand, 
Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And ye shall be heir of half my land," 
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

*^ sister, I'll not reach my hand, 
Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And I'll be the heir of all your land; 
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

" Shame fa' the hand that I should take, 
Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
It has twined me and my world's make ; " 
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

" sister, sister, reach your glove, 
Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And sweet William shall be your love ; " 
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 



50 BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION. 

" Sink on, nor hope for hand or glove, 
Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And sweet William shall be mair my love, 
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

" Your cherry cheeks, and your yellow hair, 
Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
Had gar'd me gang maiden ever mair," 
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

Sometimes she sank, and sometimes she swam, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
Until she cam' to the miller's dam ; 

By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

The miller's daughter was baking bread, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And gaed for water as she had need. 

By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

" father, father, draw your dam ! 
Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
For there is a lady or milk-white swan," 
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

The miller hasted and drew his dam, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And there he found a drown'd woman. 

By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 



THE TWA SISTERS O' BINNORIE. 51 

Ye couldna see her yellow hair, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
For gowd and pearls that were sae rare ; 

By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

Ye couldna see her middle sma', 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
Her gowden girdle was sae braw, 

By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

Ye couldna see her lilie feet, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
Her gowden fringes were sae deep. 

By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

" Sair will they be, whae'er they be, 
Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
The hearts that live to weep for thee ! " 
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

There cam' a harper passing by, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
The sweet pale face he chanced to spy. 

By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

And when he looked that lady on, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
He sighed and made a heavy moan. 

By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 



52 BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION. 

He has ta'en three locks o' her yellow hair, 

Binnorie, Biniiorie ; 
And wi'* them strung his harp sae rare, 

By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

He brought the harp to her father's hall ; 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And there was the court assembled all j 

By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie 

He set the harp upon a stane, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ; 
And it began to play alane, 

By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 

And sune the harp sang loud and clear, 
Binnorie, Binnorie ! 
" Farewell, my father and mither dear I " 
By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie, 



And neist when the harp began to sing, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ! 
'Twas " Farewell, sweetheart ! " said the string, 

By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 



And then as plain as plain could be, 

Binnorie, Binnorie ! 
There sits my sister wha drowned me ! " 

By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie. 



THE DEMON LOVER. 63 



THE DEMON LOVER. 

" 0, WHEKE hae ye been, my lang-lost love, 
This lang seven years an' more ? " 

" O, I'm come to seek my former vows 
Ye granted me before." 

" 0, hand your tongue o' your former vows, 
Eor they'll breed bitter strife ; 
0, hand your tongue o' your former vows, 
For I am become a wife." 

He turned him right an' round about. 
And the tear blinded his e'e ; 
'• I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground 
If it hadna been for thee. 



" I might hae had a king's daughter 
Far, far ayont the sea, 
I might hae had a king's daughter. 
Had it nae been for love o' thee." 

" If ye might hae had a king's daughter, 
Yoursel' ye hae to blame ; 
Ye might hae taken the king's daughter, 
For ye kenn'd that I was nane," 



54 BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION. 

" fause be the vows o' womankind, 
But fair is their fause bodie ; 
I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground 
Had it nae been for love o' thee." 

" If I was to leave my husband dear, 
And my twa babes also, 
where is it ye would tak' me to, 
If I with thee should go ? " 

" I hae seven ships upon the sea. 
The eighth brouct me to land, 
Wi' four-and-twenty bold mariners. 
And music of ilka hand." 

She has taken up her twa little babes, 
Kiss'd them baith cheek and chin ; 
" fare ye weel, my ain twa babes. 
For I'll never see you again." 

She set her foot upon the ship, 
No mariners could she behold ; 

But the sails were o' the taffetie, 
And the masts o' the beaten gold. 

" how do you love the ship ? " he said, 
" how do you love the sea ? 
And how do you love the bold mariners 
That wait upon thee and me ? " 



THE DEMON LOVER. 55 

^'0 1 do love the ship," she said, 
" And I do love the sea ; 
But wae to the dim mariners 
That naewhere I can see ! " 

They hadna sailed a league, a league, 

A league but barely three, 
When dismal grew his countenance, 

And drumly grew his e'e. 

The masts that were like the beaten gold. 

Bent not on the heaving seas ; 
The sails that were o' the taffetie 

Fill'd not in the east land breeze. 

They hadna sailed a league, a league, 

A league but barely three, 
Until she espied his cloven hoof. 

And she wept right bitterlie. 

*' O hand your tongue o' your weeping," he says : 
" 0' your weeping now let me be ; 
I will show you how the lilies grow 
On the banks of Italy." 

" what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills. 

That the sun shines sweetly on ?" 
" yon are the hills o' heaven," he said, 

" Where you will never won." 



66 BALLADS OF SUPEBSTITION. 

" what'ri a mountain's yon/' she said, 
^' Sae dreary wi' frost an' snow ? " 

" yon is the mountain o' hell," he cried, 
" Where you and I maun go ! " 

And aye when she turn'd her round about, 
Aye taller he seemed for to be ; 

Until that the tops o' that gallant ship 
Nae taller were than he. 

He strack the tapmast wi' his hand, 

The foremast wi' his knee ; 
And he brak that gallant ship in twain. 

And sank her i' the sea. 



RIDDLES WISELY EXPOUNDED. 

There was a knicht riding frae the east, 

Jennifer gentle an* rosemaree. 
Who had been wooing at monie a place. 

As the dew flies ower the mulberry tree. 

He cam' unto a widow's door. 

And speird whare her three dochters were. 

The auldest ane's to a washing gane, 
The second's to a baking gane. 



EIBDLES WISELY EXPOUNDED. 57 

The youngest ane's to a wedding gane, 
And it will be nicht or she be hame. 

He sat him doun upon a stane, 

Till thir three lasses cam' tripping hame. 

The auldest ane she let him in, 
And pin'd the door wi' a siller pin. 

The second ane she made his bed, 
And laid saft pillows unto his head. 

The youngest ane was bauld and bricht. 

And she tarried for words wi' this unco knicht. 

" Gin ye will answer me questions ten. 
The morn ye sail be made my ain. 

" what is heigher nor the tree ? 
And what is deeper nor the sea ? 

" Or what is heavier nor the lead ? 
And what is better nor the breid ? 

" what is whiter nor the milk ? 
Or what is safter nor the silk ? 

" Or what is sharper nor a thorn ? 
Or what is louder nor a horn ? 



58 BALLADS OF SUPERSTITION. 

" Or what is greener nor the grass ? 
Or what" is waiir nor a woman was ? 



9" 



" heaven is higher nor the tree, 
And hell is deeper nor the sea. 

" sin is heavier nor the lead, 
The blessing's better nor the breid. 

" The snaw is whiter nor the milk, 
And the down is safter nor the silk. 

" Hunger is sharper nor a thorn. 
And shame is louder nor a horn. 

" The pies are greener nor the grass. 
And Clootie's waur nor a woman was." 

As sune as she the fiend did name, 
Jennifer gentle an^ rosemaree, 

He flew awa in a blazing flame, 

As the dew flies ower the mulberry tree. 



BALLADS OF TRADITION. 



BALLADS OF TRADITION. 



SIR PATEICK SPENS. 

The King sits in Dunfermline toun, 
Drinking the blude-red wine ; 
" O whaur shall I get a skeely skipper, 
To sail this gude ship of mine ? " 

Then up an' spake an eldern knight, 
Sat at the King's right knee ; 
" Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor 
That ever sailed the sea." 

The King has written a braid letter. 
And seal'd it \vi' his hand, 

And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens 
Was walking on the sand. 

" To Noroway, to Noroway, 
To ISToroway o'er the faem ; 
The King's daughter to Noroway, 
It's thou maun tak' her hame." 

The first line that Sir Patrick read, 
A loud laugh laughed he. 

The neist line that Sir Patrick read, 
The tear blinded his e'e. 



62 BALLADS OF TBADITIOX. 

" wha is tills hae dune this deed, 
And tauld the King o' me, 
To send us out at this time o' the year 
To sail upon the sea ? 

"Be it wind or weet, be it hail or sleet, 
Our ship maun sail the faem. 
The King's daughter to Noroway, 
'Tis we maun tak' her hame." 

They hoisted their sails on Monday morn, 

Wi' a' the speed they may ; 
And they hae landed in iSToroway 

Upon the Woden sday. 

They hadna been a week, a week. 

In iSToroway but twae. 
When that the lords o' Noroway 

Began aloud to say — 

" Ye Scotsmen spend a' our King's gowd, 

And a' our Queenis fee.'' 
" Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud, 

Sae loud's I hear ye lie ! 

"For I brouct as mickle white monie. 
As gane my men and me, 
And a half-fou o' the gude red gold. 
Out owre the sea wi' me. 



SIR PATRICK SPENS. 63 

" Mak' ready, mak' ready, my merry men a', 

Our gude ship sails the morn." 
" Now ever alack, my master dear, 

I fear a deadly storm. 

" I saw the new moon late yestreen, 
Wi' the auld moon in her arm ; 
And I fear, I fear, my master dear, 
That we sail come to harm ! " 

They hadna sail'd a league, a league, 

A league but barely three, 
When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud. 

And gurly grew the sea. 

The ropes they brak, and the top-masts lap. 

It was sic a deadly storm ; 
And the waves cam' o'er the broken ship. 

Till a' her sides were torn. 

^' whaur will I get a gude sailor 
Will tak' the helm in hand. 
Until I win to the tall top-mast. 
And see if I spy the land ? " 

" It's here am I, a sailor gude, 
Will tak' the helm in hand. 
Till ye win to the tall top-mast, 
But I fear ye'll ne'er spy land." 



64 BALLADS OF TRADITION. 

He hadna gane a step, a step, 

A step but barely ane. 
When a bolt flew out of the gude ship's side, 

And the saut sea it cam' in. 

" Gae, fetch a web of the silken claith, 
Anither o' the twine. 
And wap them into the gude ship's side, 
And let na the sea come in." 

They fetched a web o' the silken claith, 

Anither o' the twine. 
And they wapp'd them into that gude ship's side, 

But aye the sea cam' in. 

laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords 

To weet their cock-heeled shoon, 
But lang ere a' the play was o'er 

They wat their hats abune. 

O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords 

To weet their milk-white hands, 
But lang ere a' the play was played 

They wat their gouden bands. 

lang, lang may the ladies sit, 

Wi' their fans into their hand, 
Or ever they see Sir Patrick Spens 

Come sailing to the land. 



THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURNE. 65 

lang, lang may the maidens sit, 
AVi' their gowd kaims in their hair, 

A' waiting for their ain dear loves, 
For them they'll see nae mair. 

Half owre, half owre to Aberdour, 

It's fifty fathom deep, 
And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, 

Wi' the Scots lords at his feet. 



THE BATTLE OF OTTERBUENE. 

It fell about the Lammas tide. 
When muirmen win their hay, 

That the doughty Earl of Douglas rade 
Into England to fetch a prey. 

And he has ta'en the Lindsays light, 
With them the Gordons gay ; 

J3ut the Jardines wad not with him ride, 
And they rue it to this day. 

Then they hae harried the dales o' Tyne, 
And half o' Bambrough-shire, 

And the Otter-dale they burned it haill. 
And set it a' on fire. 



QQ BALLADS OF TRADITION. 

Then he cam' up to New Castel, 
And rade it round about : 
" who is the lord of this castel, 
Or who is the lady o't ? '^ 

But up and spake Lord Percy then, 
And but he spake hie : 
" It's I am the lord of this castel, 
My wife is the lady gay." 

" If thou'rt the lord of this castel, 
Sae weel it pleases me ! 
For ere I cross the Border fell, 
The tane of us shall dee." — 

He took a lang spear in his hand. 
Shod with the metal free ; 

And forth to meet the Douglas then. 
He rade richt furiouslie. 

But how pale his lady looked 
Frae aff the castle wa'. 

As doun before the Scottish spear 
She saw proud Percy fa' ! 

" Had we twa been upon the green. 
And never an eye to see, 
I wad hae had you, flesh and fell, 
But your sword shall gae wi' me." 



THE BATTLE OF OTTEBBURNE. 67 

" Now gae up to the Otterburne, 
And bide there dayis three, 
And gin I come not ere they end, 
A fause knight ca' ye me ! " 

" The Otterburne is a bonnie burn, 
'Tis pleasant there to be ; 
But there is nought at Otterburne 
To feed my men and me. 

" The deer rins wild on hill and dale, 
The birds fly wild f rae tree to tree ; 
But there is neither bread nor kale, 
To fend my men and me. 

" Yet I will stay at the Otterburne, 
Where you shall welcome be ; 
And, if ye come not at three dayis end, 
A fause lord I'll ca' thee." 

" Thither will I come," Earl Percy said. 

By the might of our Ladye ! " 
" There will I bide thee," said the Douglas, 

<' My troth I plight to thee ! " 

They lichted high on Otterburne, 

Upon the bent sae broun ; 
They lichted high on Otterburne, 

And pitched their pallions doun. 



68 BALLADS OF TRADITION. 

And he that had a boiinie boy, 
He sent his horse to grass ; 

And he that had not a bonnie boy, 
His ain servant he was. 

Then up and spake a little boy, 
Was near of Douglas' kin — 
" Methinks I see an English host 
Come branking us upon ! 

" Nine wargangs beiring braid and wide, 
Seven banners beiring high ; 
It wad do any living gude, 
To see their colours fly ! '' 

" If this be true, my little boy, 
That thou tells unto me, 
The brawest bower o' the Otterburne 
Sail be thy morning fee. 

" But I hae dreamed a dreary dream, 
Ayont the Isle o' Skye, — 
I saw a deid man win a fight. 
And I think that man was I." 

He belted on his gude braid-sword, 

And to the field he ran ; 
But he forgot the hewmont strong, 

That should have kept his brain. 



THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURNE. 69 

When Percy wi' the Douglas met, 

I wot he was f u' fain : 
They swakkit swords, and they twa swat, 

Till the blude ran down like rain. 

But Percy wi' his gude braid-sword. 

That could sae sharply wound. 
Has wounded Douglas on the brow, 

That he fell to the ground. 

And then he called his little foot-page, 

And said — " Eun speedilie. 
And fetch my ae dear sister's son, 

Sir Hugh Montgomerie. 

" My nephew gude ! " the Douglas said, 
" What recks the death of ane ? 
Last night I dreamed a dreary dream. 
And ken the day's thy ain ! 

" My wound is deep ; I fain wad sleep 1 
Tak' thou the vanguard o' the three, 
And bury me by the bracken bush. 
That grows on yonder lily lea. 

" bury me by the bracken bush. 
Beneath the blumin' brier ; 
Let never living mortal ken 
That a kindly Scot lies here ! " 



70 BALLADS OF TRADITION. 

He lifted up that noble lord, 

Wi' the saut tear in his e'e ; 
And he hid him by the bracken bush, 

That his merry men might not see. 

The moon was clear, the day drew near, 

The spears in flinders flew ; 
And many a gallant Englishman 

Ere day the Scotsmen slew. 

The Gordons gay, in English blude 
They wat their hose and shoon ; 

The Lindsays flew like fire about. 
Till a' the fray was dune. 

The Percy and Montgomery met. 
That either of other was fain; 

They swakkit swords, and sair they swat, 
And the blude ran down between. 

^' Now yield thee, yield thee, Percy ! " he said, 

Or else I will lay thee low ! " 
" To whom maun I yield," Earl Percy said, 
" Since I see that it maun be so ? " 

'' Thou shalt not yield to lord or loun. 
Nor yet shalt thou yield to me ; 
But yield thee to the bracken-bush 
That grows on yonder lily lea ! " 



THE HUNTING OF THE CHEVIOT. 71 

This deed was done at the Otterburne 

About the breaking o' the day ; 
Earl Douglas was buried at the bracken bush, 

And the Percy led captive away. 



THE HUNTING OF THE CHEVIOT. 

THE FIRST FIT. 

The Perse owt off Northombarlande, 

And a vowe to God mayd he, 
That he wold hunte in the mountayns 

Off Chyviat within days thre, 
In the mauger of doughte Dogles, • 

And all that ever with him be. 

The fattiste hartes in all Cheviat 

He sayd he wold kill, and cary them away : 
" Be my feth," sayd the dougheti Doglas agayn, 
" I wyll let that hontyng, yf that I may." 

Then the Perse owt of Banborowe cam. 

With him a myghtye meany ; 
With fifteen hondrith archares bold ; 

The wear chosen owt of shyars thre. 

This begane on a monday at morn, 

In Cheviat the hillys so he ; 
The chyld may rue that ys un-born, 

It was the mor pitte. 



72 BALLADS OF TRADITION. 

The dryvars thorowe the woodes went, 

For to reas the dear ; 
Bomen byckarte uppone the bent 

With ther browd aras cleare. 

Then the wyld thorowe the woodes went, 

On every syde shear; 
Grea-hondes thorowe the grevis glent, 

For to kyll thear dear. 

The begane in Chyviat the hyls above, 

Yerly on a monnynday ; 
Be that it drewe to the oware off none, 

A hondrith fat hartes ded ther lay. 

The blewe a mort uppone the bent, 

The semblyd on sydis shear ; 
To the quyrry then the Perse went 

To se the bryttlynge off the deare. 

He sayd, "It was the Duglas promys 

This day to meet me hear ; 
But I wyste he wold fay lie, verament : " 

A gret oth the Perse swear. 

At the laste a squyar of Northombelonde 

Lokyde at his hand full ny ; 
He was war ath the doughetie Doglas comynge, 

With him a myghte meany ; 



THE HUNTING OF THE CHEVIOT. 73 

Both with spear, byll, and brande ; 

Yt was a myghti sight to se ; 
Hardyar men both off hart nar hande 

Wear not in Christiante. 

The wear twenty hondrith spear-men good, 
Withowte any fayle ; 
. The wear borne along be the watter a Twyde, 
Yth bowndes of Tividale. 

" Leave off the brytlyng of the dear," he sayde, 
" And to your bowys lock ye tayk good heed ; 
For never sithe ye wear on your mothars borne 
Had ye never so mickle need." 

The dougheti Dogglas on a stede 

He rode aft his men bef orne ; 
His armor glytteryde as dyd a glede ; 

A bolder barne was never born. 

" Tell me what men ye ar," he says, 
" Or whos men that ye be : 
Who gave youe leave to hunte in this Chyviat chays. 
In the spyt of me ? " 

The first mane that ever him an answear mayd, 
Yt was the good lord Perse : 
" We wyll not tell the what men we ar," he says, 
" Nor whos men that we be ; 
But we wyll hount hear in this chays, 
In the spyt of thyne and of the. 



74 BALLADS OF TRADITION. 

" The fattiste hartes in all Cbyviat 

We have kyld; and cast to carry them a-way : " 
^^Be my troth," sayd the doughte Dogglas agayn, 

" Ther-for the ton of us shall de this day." 

Then sayd the doughte Doglas 
Unto the lord Perse : 
" To kyll all thes giltles men, 
Alas, it were great pitte ! 

" But, Perse, thowe art a lord of lande, 
I am a yerle callyd within my contre ; 
Let all our men uppone a parti stande, 
And do the battell off the and of me." 

" Nowe Cristes cors on his crowne," sayd the lord Perse, 
" Whosoever ther-to says nay ; 
Be my troth, doughte Doglas," he says, 
" Thow shalt never se that day. 

" Nethar in Ynglonde, Skottlonde, nar Prance, 
Nor for no man of a woman boi^n. 
But, and fortune be my chance, 
I dar met him, on man for on." 

Then bespayke a squyar off Northombarlonde, 
Eichard Wytharynton was him nam ; 
" It shall never be told in Sothe-Ynglonde," he says, 
" To kyng Herry the fourth for sham. 



THE HUNTING OF THE CHEVIOT. 75 

'^ I wat youe byn great lorcles twaw, 

I am a poor squyar of lancle ; 
I wyll never se my captayne fyglit on a fylde, 

And stande myselffe, and looke on, 
But whyll I may my weppone welde, 

I wyll not ffayll both hart and hande." 

That day, that day, that.dredfull day ! 

The first fit here I fynde ; 
And youe wyll here any mor a' the hountyng a' 
the Chyviat, 

Yet ys ther mor behynd. 



THE SECOND FIT. 

The Yngglyshe men hade ther bowys yebent, 
Ther hartes were good yenoughe ; 

The first off arros that the shote off, 
Seven skore spear-men the sloughe. 

Yet byddys the yerle Doglas uppon the bent, 

A captayne good yenoughe. 
And that was sene verament, 

For he wrought hom both woo and wouche. 



The Dogglas pertyd his ost in thre, 
Lyk a cheffe cheften off pryde, 

With suar speares off myghtte tre, 
The cum in on every syde : 



76 BALLADS OF TRADITION. 

Thrughe our Yngglislie archery 
Gave many a wounde full wyde ; 

Many a doughete the garde to dy, 
Which ganyde them no pryde. 

The Yngglyshe men let thear bowys be, 
And pulde owt brandes that wer bright ; 

It was a hevy syght to se 
Bryght swordes on basnites lyght. 

Throrowe ryche male and myneyeple, 
Many sterne the stroke downe streght; 

Many a freyke, that was full fre, 
Ther undar foot dyd lyght. 

At last the Duglas and the Perse met, 

Lyk to captayns of myght and of mayne ; 

The swapte togethar tyll the both swat. 
With swordes that wear of fyn myllan. 

Thes worthe freckys for to fyght, 

Ther-to the wear full fayne, 
Tyll the bloode owte off thear basnetes sprente, 

As ever dyd heal or rayne. 

" Holde the, Perse," sayd the Doglas, 
" And i' feth T shall the brynge 
Wher thowe shalte have a yerls wagis 
Of Jamy our Scottish kynge. 



THE HUNTING OF THE CHEVIOT. 77 

" Tlioue shalte have thy ranson fre, 
I hight the liear this thinge, 
For the manfullyste man yet art thowe, 
That ever I conqueryd in filde fightyng." 

'' Nay," sayd the lord Perse, 
" I tokle it the beforne, 
That I wolde never yeldyde be 
To no man of woman born." 

With that ther cam an arrowe hastely 

Forthe off a myghtte wane ; 
Hit hathe strekene the yerle Duglas 

In at the brest bane. 

Thoroue lyvar and longs bathe 

The sharp arrowe ys gane, 
That never after in all his lyffe-days, 

He spayke mo wordes but ane : 
That was, "Fyghte ye, my merry men, whyllys ye may, 

For my lyff-days ben gan." 

The Perse leanyde on his brande, 

And sawe the Duglas de ; 
He tooke the dede man be the hande, 

And sayd, " Wo ys me for the ! 

" To have savyde thy lyffe I wolde have pertyde with 
My landes for years thre. 
For a better man, of hart nare of hande, 
Was not in all the north contre." 



78 BALLADS OF TRADITION. 

Off all that se a Skottishe knyght, 

Was callyd Sir Hewe the Mongonbyrry ; 

He sawe the Duglas to the deth was dyght, 
He spendyd a spear, a trust! tre : — 

He rod uppon a corsiare 

Throughe a hondrith archery : 
He never styntyde, nar never blane, 

Tyll he cam to the good lord Perse. 

He set uppone the lord Perse 

A dynte that was full soare ; 
With a suar spear of a myghtte tre 

Clean thorow the body he the Perse bore, 

A' the tother syde that a man myght se 

A large cloth yard and mare : 
Towe bettar captayns wear nat in Christiante, 

Then that day slain wear ther. 

An archar off Northomberlonde 

Say slean was the lord Perse ; 
He bar a bende-bowe in his hande, 

Was made off trusti tre. 

An arow, that a cloth yarde was lang, 

To th' hard stele halyde he ; 
A dynt that was both sad and soar, 

He sat on Sir Hewe the Mongonbyrry. 



THE HUNTING OF THE CHEVIOT. 79 

The clynt yt was both sad and sar, 

That he on Mongonberry sete ; 
The swane-fethars, that his arrowe bar, 

With his hart-blood the wear wete. 

Ther was never a freake wone foot wolde fie, 

But still in stour dyd stand, 
Heawyng on yche othar, whyll the myght dre, 

With many a balful brande. 

This battell begane in Chyviat 

An owar befor the none, 
And when even-song bell was rang, 

The battell was nat half done. 

The tooke on ethar hand 

Be the lyght off the mone ; 
Many hade no strenght for to stande, 

In Chyviat the hilly s aboun. 

Of fifteen hondrith archars of Yonglonde 

Went away but fifti and thre ; 
Of twenty hondrith spear-men of Skotlonde, 

But even five and fifti : 

But all wear sla}' ne Cheviat within ; 

The hade no strengthe to stand on hie ; 
The chylde may rue that ys unborne, 

It was the mor pitte. 



80 BALLADS OF TRABITION. 

Thear was slayne with the lord Pers^ 

Sir John of Agerstone, 
Sir Rogar the hinde Hartly, 

Sir Wyllyam the bolde Hearone. 

Sir Jorg the worthe Lovele, 

A knyght of great reiiowen, 
Sir Raff the ryche Rugbe, 

With dyntes wear beaten dowene. 

For Wetharryngton my harte was wo, 
That ever he slayne shulde be ; 

For when both his leggis wear hewyne in to, 
Yet he knyled and fought on hys kne. 

Ther was slayne with the dougheti Douglas, 

Sir He we the Mongonbyrry, 
Sir Davye Lwdale, that worthe was, 

His sistars son was he : 

His Charls a Murre in that place. 

That never a foot wolde fle ; 
Sir Hewe Maxwell, a lorde he was, 

With the Duglas dyd he dey. 

So on the morrowe the mayde them byears 

Off birch and hasell so gray ; 
Many wedous with wepyng tears 

Cam to fach ther makys away. 



THE HUNTING OF THE CHEVIOT. 81 

Tivydale may carpe off care, 

Northombarloncl may mayk grat mon, 

For to we such, captayns as slayne wear thear, 
On the march perti shall never be non. 

Word ys commen to Eddenburrowe, 

To Jamy the Skottishe kyng, 
That dougheti Duglas, lyff-tenant of the Merches, 

He lay slean 'Chy viot with-in. 

His handdes dyd he weal and wryng, 
He sayd, '' Alas, and woe ys me ! 
" Such an othar captayn Skotland within,'' 
He sayd, " y-feth shall never be." 

Worde ys commyn to lovly Londone, 

Till the fourth Harry our kyng, 
That lord Perse, lyffe-tennante of the Merchis, 

He lay slayne Chyviat within. 

" God have merci on his soil," sayd kyng Harry, 

" Good lord, yf thy will it be ! 
I have a hondrith captayns in Ynglonde," he sayd, 

" As good as ever was hee : 
But Perse, and I brook my lyffe, 

Thy deth well quyte shall be." 

As our noble kyng mayd his a-vowe, 

Lyke a noble prince of renowen, 
For the deth of the lord Perse 

He dyde the battell of Hombyll-down : 



82 BALLADS OF TBABITION. 

Wher syx and thritte Skottishe knyghtes 

On a day wear beaten down ; 
Glendale glytteryde on ther armor bryght, 

Over castill, towar, and town. 

This was the Hontynge off the Cheviat ; 

That tear begane this spurn : 
Old men that knowen the grownde well yenoughe, 

Call it the Battell of Otterburn. 

At Otterburn began this spurne 

Uppon a monnynday : 
Ther was the dougghte Doglas slean, 

The Perse never went away. 

Ther was never a tym on the March partes 

Sen the Doglas and the Perse met, 
But yt was marvele, and the redde blude ronne not, 

As the reane doys in the stret. 

Jhesue Christ our balys bete, 

And to the blys us brynge ! 
Thus was the Hountynge of the Chevy at : 

God send us all good endjmg. 



EDOM O' GORDON. 83 

EDOM 0' GOKDOK 

It fell about the Martinmas, 

When the wind blew shrill and caiild, 

Said Edom o' Gordon to his men, 
'' We maun draw to a hauld. 

" And whatna hauld sail we draw to, 
My merry men and me ? 
We will gae to the house o' the Kodes, 
To see that fair ladie." 

The ladie stude on her castle wa', 

Beheld baith dale and down. 
There she was ware of a host of men 

Were riding towards the town. 

*^ see ye not, my merry men a', 

see ye not what I see ? 
Methinks I see a host of men — . 

1 marvel what they be." 

She ween'd it had been her ain dear lord 

As he cam' riding hame ; 
It was the traitor, Edom o' Gordon, 

Wha recked nor sin nor shame. 



84 BALLADS OF TRADITION. 

She had nae suner buskit hersell, 

Nor putten on her goun, 
Till Edom o' Gordon and his men 

Were round about the toun. 

They had nae suner supper set, 
Nor suner said the grace, 

Till Edom o' Gordon and his men 
Were light about the place. 

The ladie ran to her tower head, 
As fast as she could hie, 

To see if, by her fair speeches. 
She could with him agree. 

" Come doun to me, ye ladye gay. 
Come doun, come doun to me ; 
This nicht sail ye lie within my arms, 
The morn my bride sail be." 

" I winna come doun, ye fause Gordon, 
I winna come doun to thee ; 
I winna forsake my ain dear lord, 
That is sae far frae me.'^ 

^' Gie owre your house, ye ladie fair, 
Gie owre your house to me ; 
Or I sail burn yoursell therein, 
But and your babies three." 



EBOM O' GORDON. 85 

" I winna gie owre, ye false Gordon, 
To nae sic traitor as thee ; 
And if ye burn my ain dear babes, 
My lord sail mak^ ye dree ! 

'^ But reach my pistol, Glaud, my man, 
And charge ye weel my gun ; 
For, but an I pierce that bludy butcher, 



She stude upon the castle wa', 

And let twa bullets flee ; 
She miss'd that bludy butcher's heart. 

And only razed his knee. 

" Set fire to the house ! " quo' the false Gordon, 

All wude wi' dule and ire ; 
" False ladie ! ye sail rue that shot. 

As ye burn in the fire." 

" Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock, my man ! 
I paid ye weel your fee ; 
Why pu' ye out the grund^wa-stane, 
Lets in the reek to me ? 

'- And e'en wae worth ye, Jock, my man ! 
I paid ye weel your hire ; 
Why pu' ye out my grund-wa-stane. 
To me lets in the fire ? " 



86 BALLADS OF TRADITION. 

^' Ye paid me weel my hire, lady, 
Ye paid me weel my fee ; 
But now I'm Edom o' Gordon's man, 
Maun either do or die." 

then bespake her youngest son, 

Sat on the nourice' knee ; 
Says, " Mither dear, gie owre this house. 

For the reek it smothers me." 

" 1 wad gie a' my gowd, my bairn, 
Sae wad I a' my fee. 
For ae blast o' the westlin' wind, 
To blaw the reek frae thee ! " 

then bespake her daughter dear — 
She was baith jimp and sma' — 
" row me in a pair o' sheets, 
And tow me owre the wa'." 

They rowed her in a pair o' sheets, 
And towed her owre the wa' ; 

But on the point o' Gordon's spear 
She gat a deadly fa'. 

bonnie, bonnie was her mouth, 
And cherry were her cheeks ; 

And clear, clear was her yellow hair. 
Whereon the red blude dreeps. 



EDOM O' GORDON. ST 

Then wi' his spear he turned her owre, 

gin her face was wan ! 

He said, " You are the first that e'er 

1 wish'd alive again." 

He turned her owre and owre again, 
gin her skin was white ! 
" I might hae spared that bonnie face, 
To hae been some man's delight. 

" Busk and boun, my merry men a'. 
For ill dooms I do guess ; 
I canna look on that bonnie face, 
As it lies on the grass ! " 

" Wha looks to freits, my master deir. 
It's freits will follow them ; 
Let it ne'er be said that Edom o' Gordon 
Was dauntit by a dame." 

But when the lady saw the fire 

Come flaming owre her head, 
She wept, and kiss'd her children twain, 

Says, " Bairns, we been but dead." 

The Gordon then his bugle blew, 

And said, " Awa', awa' ; 
The house o' the Rodes is a' in a flame, 

I hold it time to ga'." 



88 BALLADS OF TRADITION. 

then bespied her ain dear lord, 

As he came owre the lee ; 
He saw his castle all in a lowe, 

Sae far as he could see. 

" Put on, put on, my wichty men. 
As fast as ye can dri'e ; 
For he that is hindmost of the thrang, 
Shall ne'er get gude o' me ! " 

Then some they rade, and some they ran, 

Fu' fast out-owre the bent ; 
But ere the foremost could win up, 

Baith lady and babes were brent. 

He wrang his hands, he rent his hair, 
And wept in teenfu' mood ; 
" Ah, traitors ! for this cruel deed. 
Ye shall weep tears of blude." 

And after the Gordon he has gane, 

Sae fast as he might dri'e. 
And soon i' the Gordon's foul heart's blude, 

He's wroken his fair ladie. 



KINMONT WILLIE. 89 



KINMOKT WILLIE. 

HAVE ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde ? 

have ye na heard o' the keen Lord Scroope ? 
How they hae ta'en baiild Kinmont Willie, 

On Haribee to hang him up ? 

Had Willie had but twenty men, 

But twenty men as stout as he, 
Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont ta'en, 

Wi' eight score in his companie. 

They band his legs beneath the steed, 
They tied his hands behind his back ; 

They guarded him, fivesome on each side, 
And they brought him ower the Liddel-rack. 

They led him thro' the Liddel-rack, 

And also thro' the Carlisle sands ; 
They brought him on to Carlisle castle, 

To be at my Lord Scroope's commands. 

' My hands are tied, but my tongue is free, 

And wha will dare this deed avow ? 
Or answer by the Border law ? 

Or answer to the bauld Buccleuch ? " 



90 BALLADS OF TRADITION. 

"Now hand thy tongue, thou rank reiver ! 
There's never a Scot shall set thee free: 
Before ye cross my castle yate 

I trow ye shall take farewell o' me." 

" Fear ye na that, my lord," quo' Willie : 

" By the faith o' my body, Lord Scroope," he said, 

" I never yet lodged in a hostelrie, 

But I paid my lawing before I gaed." 

Now word is gane to the bauld keeper, 
In Branksome Ha', where that he lay. 

That Lord Scroope has ta'en the Kinmont AVillie, 
Between the hours of night and day. 

He has ta'en the table wi' his hand, 
He garr'd the red wine spring on hie, 
" Now a curse upon my head," he said, 
"But avenged of Lord Scroope I'll be ! 



9 

9 



" is my basnet a widow's curch 

Or my lance a wand of the willow-tree ^ 
Or my arm a lady's lily hand. 

That an English lord should lightly me i 



" And have they ta'en him, Kinmont Willie, 
Against the truce of Border tide, 
And forgotten that the bauld Buccleuch 
Is Keeper here on the Scottish side ? 



KINMONT WILLIE. 91 

''And have they e'en ta'en him, Kinmont Willie, 
Withouten either dread or fear, 
And forgotten that the bauld Buccleuch 
Can back a steed, or shake a spear ? 

'• were there war between the lands, 
As well I wot that there is nane, 
I would slight Carlisle castle high, 

Though it were builded of marble stane. 

" I would set that castle in a low. 
And sloken it with English blood ! 
There's never a man in Cumberland 
Should ken where Carlisle castle stood. 

" But since nae war's between the lands. 
And there is peace, and peace should be, 
I'll neither harm English lad or lass, 
And yet the Kinmont freed shall be ! " 

He has called him forty Marchraen bauld, 

I trow they were of his ain name, 
Except Sir Gilbert Elliot, called 

The Laird of Stobs, I mean the same. 

He has called him forty Marchmen bauld, 
Were kinsmen to the bauld Buccleuch ; 

With spur on heel, and splent on spauld. 
And gluves of green, and feathers blue. 



92 BALLADS OF TRADITION. 

There were five and five before them a', 
Wi' hunting horns and bugles bright : 

And five and five cam' wi' Buccleucli, 
Like warden's men, arrayed for fight. 

And five and five, like masons gang, 
That carried the ladders lang and hie ; 

And five and five like broken men ; 

And so they reached the AVoodhouselee. 

And as we crossed the 'Bateable Land, 
AVhen to the English side we held, 

The first o' men that we met wi', 
Wha sould it be but fause Sakelde ? 

" Where be je gann, ye hunters keen ? " 
Quo' fause Sakelde ; " come tell to me ! " 

" We go to hunt an English stag. 

Has trespassed on the Scots countrie." 

" AVhere be ye gaun, ye marshal men ? " 

Quo' fause Sakelde ; " come tell me true ! ' 

" We go to catch a rank reiver. 

Has broken faith wi' the bauld Buccleuch. 

" Where are ye gaun, ye mason lads, 
Wi' a' your ladders lang and hie ? " 

" We gang to herry a corbie's nest, 

That wons not far frae Woodhouselee." 



KINMONT WILLIE. 93 

" Where be ye gaun, ye broken men ? " 

Quo' fause Sakelde ; "come tell to me !" 
Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band, 
And the nevir a word of lear had he. 

" Why trespass ye on the English side ? 
Row-footed outlaws, stand ! " quo' he ; 
The nevir a word had Dickie to say, 

Sae he thrust the lance through his fause bodie. 

Then on we held for Carlisle toun. 

And at Staneshaw-bank the Eden we crossed, 

The water was great and meikle of spait. 
But the never a horse nor man we lost. 

And when we 'reached the Staneshaw-bank, 

The wind was rising loud and hie ; 
And there the Laird garr'd leave our steeds. 

For fear that they should stamp and neigh. 

And when we left the Staneshaw-bank, 

The wind began full loud to blaw ; 
But 'twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet, 

When we cam' beneath the castle wa'. 



We crept on knees, and held our breath. 
Till we placed the ladders agin the wa' 

And sae ready was Buccleuch himsell 
To mount the first before us a'. 



94 BALLADS OF TRADITION. 

He has ta'eii the watchman by the throat, 
He flung him down upon the lead : 
" Had there not been peace between our lands, 
Upon the other side thou hadst gaed ! 

" Now sound out, trumpets ! " quo' Buccleuch ; 
" Let's waken Lord Scroope right merrilie ! " 
Then loud the warden's trumpet blew — 
ic'ha dare meddle wi' me ? 

Then speedilie to wark we gaed, 
And raised the slogan ane and a'. 

And cut a hole through a sheet of lead, 
And so we wan to the castle ha'. 

They thought King James and a' his men 
Had won the house wi' bow and spear ; 

It was but twenty Scots and ten. 
That put a thousand in sic a stear ! 

Wi' coulters, and wi' forehammers, 
We garr'd the bars bang merrilie, 

Until we cam' to the inner prison. 
Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie. 

And when we cam' to the lower prison. 
Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie, — 
" sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie, 
Upon the morn that thou's to die ? " . 



KINMONT WILLIE. 95 

<• I sleep saft, and I wake aft ; 

It's lang since sleepino- was fley'd frae me ; 
Gie my service back to my wife and bairns, 
And a' gude fellows that spier for me." 

Then Eed Rowan has hente him up, 
The starkest man in Teviotdale, — 
'' Abide, abide now, Red Rowan, 

Till of my Lord Scroope I tak' farewell. 

" Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope ! 

My gude Lord Scroope, farewell ! " he cried : 
" I'll pay you for my lodging maill. 

When first we meet on the Border side." 

• 

Then shoulder high, with shout and cry, 
We bore him doun the ladder lang ; 

At every stride Red Rowan made, 

I wot the Kinmont's aims played clang 

" mony a time," quo' Kinmont Willie, 

" I have ridden horse baith wild and wood ; 
But a rougher beast than Red Rowan 
I ween my legs have ne'er bestrode. 

" And mony a time," quo' Kinmont Willie, 
I've pricked a horse out oure the furs ; 
But since the day I backed a steed, 
I never wore sic cumbrous spurs." 



96 BALLADS OF TRADITION. 

We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank, 
AVhen a' the Carlisle bells were rung, 

And a thousand men on horse and foot 
Cam' wi' the keen Lord Scroope along. 

Buccleuch has turned to Eden Water, 
Even where it flowed frae bank to brim. 

And he has plunged in wi' a' his band, 

And safely swam them through the stream. 

He turned him on the other side. 

And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he : 
" If ye like na my visit in merry England, 
In fair Scotland come visit me ! " 

All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope, 
He stood as still as rock of stane ; 

He scarcely dared to trew his eyes, 

When thrpugh the water they had gane. 

" He is either himsell a devil frae hell. 
Or else his mither a witch maun be ; 
I wadna hae ridden that wan water 
For a' the gowd in Christentie." 



KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY. 9i 



KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF 
CANTERBUEY. 

An ancient story He tell you anon 
Of a notable prince, that was called King John ; 
He ruled over England with maine and with might, 
For he did great wrong, and mainteined little right 



And He tell you a story, a story so merrye, 
Concerning the Abbot of Canterburye ; 
How for his housekeeping and high renowne, 
They rode poste for him to fair London towne. 

A hundred men, for the king did hear say, 
The abbot kept in his house every day ; 
And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt, 
In velvet coates waited the abbot about. 

" How now, father abbot ? I heare it of thee, 
Thou keepest a farre better house than niee ; 
And for thy housekeeping and high renowne, 
I feare thou work'st treason against my crown.'' 

" My liege," quo' the abbot, "I would it were knowne, 
I never spend nothing but what is my owne ; 
And I trust your grace will doe me no deere. 
For spending of my owne true-gotten geere." 



98 BALLADS OF TRADITION. 

" Yes, yes, father abbot, thy faulte it is highe, 
And now for the same thou needest must dye ; 
And except thou canst answer me questions three, 
Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie. 

" And first," quo' the king, " when I'm in this stead, 
With my crown of golde so faire on my head. 
Among all my liegemen so noble of birthe, 
Thou must tell to one penny what I am worthe. 

'' Secondlye, tell me, without any doubt, 
How soon I may ride the whole world about ; 
And at the third question thou must not shrink, 
But tell me here truly, what I do think ? " 

" 0, these are deep questions for my shallow witt. 
Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet : 
But if you will give me but three weekes space, 
I'll do my endeavor to answer your grace." 

" Now three weekes space to thee will I give, 
And that is the longest thou hast to live ; 
For unless thou answer my questions three, 
Thy life and thy lands are forfeit to mee." 

Away rode the abbot all sad at this word ; - 
And he rode to Cambridge and Oxenford; 
But never a doctor there was so wise. 
That could with his learning an answer devise. 



KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY. 99 

Then home rode the Abbot of comfort so cold, 
And he mett his shepheard a going to fold : 
" How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home ; 
What newes do you bring us from good king John ? " 

" Sad newes, sad newes, shepheard, I must give ; 
That I have but three days more to live ; 
For if I do not answer him questions three, 
My head will be smitten from my bodie. 

^' The first is to tell him, there in that stead. 
With his crowne of golde so fair on his head, 
Among all his liege men so noble of birth. 
To within one penny of what he is worth. 

" The seconde, to tell him, without any doubt. 
How soone he may ride this whole world about ; 
And at the third question I must not shrinke. 
But tell him there trulye what he does thinke." 

" Kow cheare up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet. 
That a fool he may learne a wise man witt ? 
Lend me horse, and serving men, and your apparel. 
And He ride to London to answere your quarrel. 

" Nay frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee, 
I am like your lordship, as ever may bee ; 
And if you will but lend me your gowne, 
There is none shall knowe^us at fair London towne."' 



100 BALLADS OF TRADITION. 

'^ Now horses and serving men thou shalt have, 
With sumptuous array most gallant and brave ; 
With crosier, and miter, and rochet, and cope. 
Fit to appear 'fore our fader the pope." 

" Now welcome, sire abbot," the king he did say, 
'• 'Tis well thou'rt come back to keepe thy day ; 
For and if thou canst answer my questions three. 
Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee. 

" And first, when thou seest me here in this stead. 
With my crown of golde so faire on my head. 
Among all my liege men so noble of birthe, 
Tell me to one penny what I am worth." 

" For thirty pence our Savior was sold 
Amonge the false Jewes, as I have bin told ; 
And twenty-nine is the worth of thee, 
For I thinke, thou art one penny worser than hee." 

The king he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel, 
" I did not think I had been worth so littel ! 
— Now secondly tell me, without any doubt, 
How soone I may ride this whole world about." 

" You must^rise with the sun, and ride with the same. 
Until the next morning he riseth againe ; 
And then your grace need not make any doubt, 
But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about." 



ROBIN HOOD RESCUING THE WIDOW'S SONS. 101 

The king he laughed, and swore " by St. Jone, 

I did not think it could be gone so soone ! 

— ISTow from the third question thou must not shrinke, 

But tell me here truly what I do thinke." 

' Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry : 
You thinke I'm the abbot of Canterbury ; 
But I'm his poor shepheard, as plain you may see, 
That am come to beg pardon for him and for mee.'^ 

The king he laughed, and swore "by the masse, 
He make thee lord abbot this day in his place ! " 
' Now naye, my liege, be not in such speede ; 
For alacke I can neither write ne reade." 

' Four nobles a week, then, I will give thee, 
For this merry jest thou hast shown unto mee; 
And tell the old abbot, when thou comest home. 
Thou hast brought him a pardon from good king John." 



EOBIN HOOD EESCUING THE WIDOW'S 
THEEE SONS. 
There are twelve months in all the year, 

As I hear many say. 
But the merriest month in all the year 
Is the merry month of May. 

Now Robin Hood is to Nottingham gone, 

With a link a doivn and a day, 
And there he met a silly old woman, 

Was weeping on the way. 



102 BALLADS OF TRADITION. 

" What news ? what news, thou silly old woman ? 
What news hast thou for me ? " 
Said she, " There's my three sons in ISTottingham town 
To-day condemned to die." 

" 0, have they parishes burnt ? " he said, 
" Or have they ministers slain ? 
Or have they robbed any virgin ? 
Or other men's wives have ta'en ? " 

" They have no parishes burnt, good sir, 
Nor yet have ministers slain, 
Nor have they robbed any virgin, 
Nor other men's wives have ta'en." 

" 0, what have they done ? " said Robin Hood, 

" I pray thee tell to me." 
" It's for slaying of the king's fallow-deer, 

Bearing their long bows with thee." 

"Dost thou not mind, old woman," he said, 
" How thou madest me sup and dine ? 
By the truth of my body," quoth bold Robin Hood, 
^' You could not tell it in better time." 

Now Robin Hood is to Nottingham gone. 

With a link a down and a day, 
And there he met with a silly old palmer, 

Was walking along the highway. 



1 



ROBIN HOOD RESCUING THE WIDOW'S SONS. 103 



" What news ? what news, thou silly old man 
What news, I do thee pray ? " 
Said he, " Three squires in Nottingham town 
Are condemned to die this day." 

" Come change thy apparel with me, old man. 
Come change thy apparel for mine ; 
Here is forty shillings in good silver, 
Go drink it in beer or wine." 

" 0, thine apparel is good," he said, 
" And mine is ragged and torn ; 
Wherever you go, wherever you ride, 
Laugh ne'er an old man to scorn." 

^^Come change thy apparel with me, old churl, 
Come change thy apparel with mine ; 
Here are twenty pieces of good broad gold, 
Go feast thy brethren with wine." 

Then he put on the old man's hat. 
It stood full high on the crown : 
" The first bold bargain that I come at, 
It shall make thee come down." 

Then he put on the old man's cloak. 
Was patched black, blew, and red ; 

He thought it no shame all the day long. 
To wear the bags of bread. 



104 BALLADS OF TRADITION. 

Then he put on the old man's breeks, 
Was patched from leg to side : 
'• By the truth of my body," bold Robin can say, 
''This man loved little pride." 

Then he put on the old man's hose, 
Were patched from knee to wrist : 
" By the truth of ,my body," said bold Robin Hood, 
'•I'd laugh if I had any list." 

Then he put on the old man's shoes. 
Were patched both beneath and aboon ; 

Then Robin Hood swore a solemn oath, 
" It's good habit that makes a man." 

Now Robin Hood is to Nottingham gone. 

With a link a doivn and a down, 
And there he met with the proud sheriff. 

Was walking along the town. 



1 



" Christ you save, sheriff ! " he said ; 
" Christ you save and see ! 
And what will you give to a silly old man 
To-day will your hangman be ? " 

" Some suits, some suits," the sheriff he said, 
" Some suits I'll give to thee ; 
Some suits, some suits, and pence thirteen, 
To-day's a hangman's fee." 



EOBIN HOOD RESCUING THE WIDO]V'S SONS. 105 

Then Kobin he turns him round about, 
And jumps from stock to stone : 
" By the truth of my body," the sheriff he said, 
" That's well jumpt, thou nimble old man." 

" I was ne'er a hangman in all my life, 
Nor yet intends to trade ; 
But curst be he," said bold Kobin, 
" That first a hangman was made ! 



I've a bag for meal, and a bag for malt. 
And a bag for barley and corn ; 

A bag for bread, and a bag for beef. 
And a bag for my little small horn. 



" I have a horn in my pocket, 
I got it from Kobin Hood, 
And still when I set it to my mouth, 
For thee it blows little good." 

" 0, wind thy horn, thou proud fellow. 
Of thee I have no doubt. 
I wish that thou give such a blast, 
Till both thy eyes fall out." 

The first loud blast that he did blow. 
He blew both loud and shrill ; 

A hundred and fifty of Kobin Hood's men 
Came riding over the hill, 



106 BALLADS OF TBADITION. 

The next loud blast that he did give, 

He blew both loud and amain, 
And quickly sixty of Robin Hood's men 

Came shining over the plain. 

" 0, who are these," the sheriff he said, 
" Come tripping over the lee ? " 

" They're my attendants," brave Robin did say ; 
" They'll pay a visit to thee." 

They took the gallows from the slack, 

They set it in the glen. 
They hanged the proud sheriff on that, 

Released their own three men. 



ROBIN HOOD AND ALLIN A DALE. 

Come listen to me, you gallants so free, 
All you that love mirth for to hear, 

And I will tell you of a bold outlaw, 
That lived in Nottinghamshire. 

As Robin Hood in the forest stood. 

All under the gi:een-wood tree. 
There he was aware of a brave young man. 

As fine as fine might be. 



BOBIN HOOD AND ALLIN A DALE. 107 

The youngster was cloathed in scarlet red, 

In scarlet line and gay ; 
And he did frisk it over the plain, 

And chanted a roundelay. 

As Robin Hood next morning stood, 

Amongst the leaves so gay, 
There did he espy the same young man 

Come drooping along the way. 

The scarlet he wore the day before. 

It was clean cast away ; 
And at every step he fetcht a sigh, 

" Alack and a well a day ! " 

Then stepped forth brave Little John, 

And Midge the miller's son. 
Which made the young man bend his bow, 

When as he see them come. 

"Stand off, stand off,^' the young man said, 

" What is your will with me ? " 
" You must come before our master straight, 

Under yon green-wood tree." 

And when he came bold Eobin before, 

Robin askt him courteously, 
"0 hast thou any money to spare 

For my merry men and me ? " 



108 BALLADS OF TRADITION. 

" I have no money/' the young man said, 
" But five shillings and a ring ; 
And that I have kept this seven long years, 
To have it at my wedding. 

" Yesterday I should have married a maid, 

But she is now from me tane, 
And chosen to be an old knight's delight. 
Whereby my poor heart is slain." 

"What is thy name ? " then said Robin Hood, 

" Come tell me, without any fail : " 
" By the faith of my body," then said the young man, 

" My name it is Allin a Dale." 

" What wilt thou give me," said Robin Hood, 

" In ready gold or fee. 
To help thee to thy true love again. 
And deliver her unto thee ? " 

" I have no money," then quoth the young man, 

" No ready gold nor fee. 
But I will swear upon a book 
Thy true servant for to be." 

" How many miles is it to thy true love ? 

Come tell me without any guile : " 
" By the faith of my body," then said the young man, 

"It is but five little mile." 



ROBm HOOD AND ALLIN A DALE. 109 

Then Robin he hasted over the plain, 

He did neither stint nor lin, 
Until he came unto the church, 

Where Allin should keep his wedding. 

"What hast thou here ? " the bishop he said, 

" I prithee now tell unto me : " 
" I am a bold harper," quoth Robin Hood, 

" And the best in the north country." 

" welcome, welcome," the bishop he said, 

" That musick best pleaseth me ; " 
" You shall have no musick," quoth Robin Hood, 

" Till the bride and the bridegroom I see." 

With that came in a wealthy knight, 

Which was both grave and old. 
And after him a finikin lass, 

Did shine like the glistering gold. 

"This is not a fit match," quoth bold Robin Hood, 
" That you do seem to make here ; 
For since we are come into the church, 
The bride shall chuse her own dear." 

Then Robin Hood put his horn to his mouth, 

And blew blasts two or three ; 
When four and twenty bowmen bold 

Came leaping over the lee. 



110 BALLADS OF TRADITION. 

And \7lien they came into the church-yard, 

Marching all on a row, 
The first man was All in a Dale, 

To give bold Eobin his bow. 

" This is thy true love," Robin he said, 

^' Young Allin, as I hear say ; 
And you shall be married at this same time, 
Before we depart away." 

" That shall not be," the bishop he said, 
" For thy word shall not stand ; 
They shall be three times askt in the church, 
As the law is of our land." 

Robin Hood pulld off the bishop's coat. 

And put it upon Little J ohn ; 
^'By the faith of my body," then Robin said, 
" This cloath does make thee a man." 

When Little John went into the quire. 

The people began for to laugh ; 
He askt them seven times in the church. 

Lest three times should not be enough. 

" Who gives me this maid ? " then said Little John ; 

Quoth Robin Hood, " That do I, 
And he that takes her from Allin a Dale 
Full dearly he shall her buy." 



1 



ROBIN HOOD'S DEATH AND BURIAL. Ill 

And thus having encle of this merry wedding, 

The bride lookt like a queen, 
And so they returned to the merry green-wood, 

Amongst the leaves so green. 



ROBIN HOOD'S DEATH AND BUKIAL. 

When Robin Hood and Little John, 

Down a down, a down, a doivn. 

Went o'er yon bank of broom. 
Said Robin Hood to Little John, 

" We have shot for many a pound : " 

Hey down, a down, a down. 

"But I am not able to shoot one shot more, 
My arrows will not flee ; 
But I have a cousin lives down below, 
Please God, she will bleed me.'^ 

Now Robin is to fair Kirkley gone. 

As fast as he can win ; 
But before he came there, as we do hear, 

He was taken very ill. 

And when that he came to fair Kirkley-ljall, 

He knocked all at the ring, 
But none was so ready as his cousin herself 

For to let bold Robin in. 



112 BALLADS OF TRADITION. 

" Will you please to sit down, cousin Robin," she said, 

" And drink some beer with me ? " 
" No, I will neither eat nor drink, 

Till I am blooded by thee." 

"Well, I have a room, cousin Eobin," she said, 
" Which you did never see, 
And if you please to walk therein, 
You blooded by me shall be." 

She took him by the lily-white hand. 

And led him to a private room. 
And there she blooded bold Robin Hood, 

Whilst one drop of blood would run. 

She blooded him in the vein of the arm, 

And locked him up in the room ; 
There did he bleed all the livelong day, 

Untilt the next day at noon. 

He then bethought him of a casement door, 

Thinking for to be gone ; 
He was so weak he could not leap. 

Nor he could not get down. 

He tljen bethought him of his bugle-horn, 

AVhich hung low down to his knee ; 
He set his horn unto his mouth, 

And blew out weak blasts three. 



4 



ROBIN HOOD'S DEATH AND BURIAL. 113 

Then Little John, when hearing him, 
As he sat under the tree, 
" I fear my master is near dead, 
He blows so wearily." 

Then Little John to fair Kirkley is gone, 

As fast as he can dri'e ; 
But when he came to Kirkley-hall, 

He broke locks two or three : 

Untilt he came bold Robin to. 
Then he fell on his knee : 
" A boon, a boon," cries Little John, 
" Master, I beg of thee." 

" What is that boon," quoth Eobin Hood, 
" Little John, thou begs of me ? " 

^' It is to burn fair Kirkley-hall, 
And all their nunnery." 

"Kow nay, now nay," quoth Robin Hood, 
" That boon I'll not grant thee ; 
I never hurt woman in all my life, 
Nor man in woman's company. 

" I never hurt fair maid in all my time, 

Nor at my end shall it be ; 
But give me my bent bow in my hand, 

And a broad arrow I'll let flee ; 
And where this arrow is taken up. 

There shall my grave digg'd be. 



114 BALLADS OF TRADITION. 

" Lay me a green sod under my head, 

And another at my feet ; 
And lay my bent bow by my side, 

Which was my music sweet ; 
And make my grave of gravel and green, 

Which is most right and meet. 

" Let me have length and breadth enough, 
With under my head a green sod ; 
That they may say, when I am dead. 
Here lies bold E-obin Hood." 

These words they readily promised him, 
Which did bold Eobin please ; 

And there they buried bold Robin Hood, 
Near to the fair Kirkleys. 



ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 



ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 



ANNIE OF LOCHEOYAN. 

" WHA will shoe my bonny feet ? 
Or wha will glove my hand ? 
Or wha will lace my middle jimp, 
Wi' a new-made London band ? 

" And wha will kame my yellow hair, 
Wi' a new-made siller kame ? 
And wha will be my bairn's father, 
Till love Gregory come hame ? " 

'' Your father'll shoe your bonny feet, 

Your mother glove your hand ; 

Your sister lace your middle jimp, 

AYi' a new-made London band ; 

" Mysel' will kame your yellow hair 
Wi' a new-made siller kame ; 
And the Lord will be the bairn's father 
Till Gregory come hame." 

" gin I had a bonny ship, 
And men to sail wi' me, 
It's I wad gang to my true love, 
Sin' he winna come to me ! " 



118 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

Her father's gi'eii her a bonny ship, 

And sent her to the strand ; 
She's ta'en her young son in her arms, 

And turn'd her back to land. 

She hadna been on the sea sailing, 

About a month or more, 
Till landed has she her bonny ship. 

Near to her true love's door. 

The night was dark, an' the wind was cauld. 
And her love was fast asleep, 

And the bairn that was in her twa arms, 
Pu' sair began to greet. 

Lang stood she at her true love's door. 

And lang tirl'd at the pin ; 
At length up gat his fause mother. 

Says, " Wha's that wad be in ? " 

" it is Annie of Lochroyan, 
Your love, come o'er the sea. 
But and your young son in her arms, 
Sae open the door to me." 

"Awa, awa, ye ill woman. 

Ye 're nae come here for gude ; 
Ye're but a witch, or a vile warlock. 
Or mermaiden o' the flood ! " 



ANNIE OF LOCHROYAN. 119 

"I'm nae a witch, nor vile warlock, 

Nor mermaiden," said she ; 
" But I am Annie of Lochroyan ; 

open the door to me ! " 

" gin ye be Annie of Lochroyan, 
As I trow not you be, 
Now tell me some o' the love-tokens 
That pass'd 'tween thee and me." 

" dinna ye mind, love Gregory, 
When we sate at the wine, 
How we chang'd the napkins frae our necks, 
It's no sae lang sinsyne ? 

"And yours was gude, and gude eneugh. 
But nae sae gude as mine ; 
For yours was o' the cambrick clear, 
But mine o' the silk sae fine. 

" And dinna ye mind, love Gregory, 
As we twa sate at dine, 
How we chang'd the rings frae our fingers, 
And I can show thee thine ? 

" And yours was gude, and gude eneugh. 
Yet nae sae gude as mine ; 
For yours was o' the gude red gold. 
But mine o' the diamonds fine. 



120 BOM ANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

" Sae open the door, love Gregory, 
And open it wi' speed ; 
Or your young son, that is in my arms, 
For cauld will soon be dead ! " 

" Awa, awa, ye ill woman, 

Gae frae my door for shame ; 
For I hae gotten anither fair love, 
Sae ye may hie ye hame ! " 

*' hae ye gotten anither fair love. 
For a' the oaths ye sware ? 
Then fare ye weel, faiise Gregory, 
For me ye'se never see mair ! " 

O hooly, hooly gaed she back, 
As the day began to peep ; 

She set her foot on gude ship board, 
And sair, sair did she weep. 

" Tak down, tak down that mast o' gowd, 
Set up the mast o' tree ; 
111 sets it a forsaken lady 
To sail sae gallantlie ! " 

Love Gregory started frae his sleep, 
And to his mother did say ; 
'' I dream'd a dream this night, mither. 
That maks my heart right wae. 



ANNIE OF LOCHROYAN. 121 

" I dream'cl that Annie of Lochroyan, 
The flower of a' her kin, 
Was standing mournin' at my door, 
But nane wad let her in.'' 

" Gin it be for Annie of Lochroyan, 
That ye mak a' this din ; 
She stood a' last night at your door, 
But I trow she wan na in ! " 

" wae betide ye, ill woman ! 
An ill deid may ye die. 
That wadna open the door to her, 
Nor yet wad waken me ! " 

O quickly, quickly raise he up. 

And fast ran to the strand ; 
And then he saw her, fair Annie, 

Was sailing frae the land. 

And it's "Hey Annie !" and "How Annie ! 

Annie, w^inna ye bide ? " 
But aye the mair that he cried " Annie ! " 

The faster ran the tide. 

And it's " Hey Annie ! " and " How Annie ! 

O Annie, speak to me ! " 
But aye the louder that he cried "'Annie ! " 

The higher raise the sea. 



122 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

The wind grew loud, and the sea grew rough, 
And the ship was rent in twain ; 

And soon he saw her, fair Annie, 
Come floating through the faeni. 

He saw his young son in her arms, 

Baith toss'd abune the tide ; 
He wrang his hands, and fast he ran, 

And plunged in the sea sae wide. 

He catch'd her by the yellow hair. 

And drew her to the strand ; 
But cauld and stiff was every limb. 

Afore he reach'd the land. 

O first he kiss'd her cherry cheek. 

And syne he kiss'd her chin. 
And sair he kiss'd her bonny lips, 

But there was nae breath within. 

And he has mourn'd o'er fair Annie, 
Till the sun was ganging down. 

Syne wi' a sigh his heart it brast, 
And his soul to heaven has flown. 



J 



LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET. 123 



LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET. 

Lord Thomas and fair Annet 

Sat a' day on a hill, 
When night was come, and the sun was set, 

They had na talk'd their fill. 

Lord Thomas said a word in jest, 
Fair Annet took it ill ; 
"01 will never wed a wife, 

Against my ain friends' will." 

" Gif ye will never wed a wife, 
A wife will ne'er wed ye." 
Sae he is hame to tell his mither. 
And kneel'd upon his knee. 

" rede, rede, mither," he says, 
'• A gude rede gie to me ; 
sail I tak' the nut-brown bride, 
And let fair Annet be ? " 

" The nut-brown bride has gowd and gear, 
Fair Annet she's gat nane. 
And the little beauty fair Annet has, 
it will soon be gane." 



124 nOMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

And he has to his brither gane ; 
"Now, brither, rede ye me, 

sail I marry the nut-brown bride, 
And let fair Annet be ? " 

" The nut-brown bride has owsen, brither, 
The nut-brown bride has kye ; 

1 wad hae you marry the nut-brown bride. 
And cast fair Annet by." 

" Her owsen may dee in the house, billie. 
And her kye into the byre, 
And I sail hae naething to mysel. 
But a fat fadge by the fire." 

And he has to his sister gane ; 

" Now, sister, rede to me ; 
sail I marry the nut-brown bride, 

And set fair Annet free ? " 

" I'se rede ye tak^ fair Annet, Thomas, 
And let the brown bride alane. 
Lest ye sould sigh, and say, Alace, 
What is this we brought hame ? " 

" No ! I Avill tak' my mither's counsel. 
And marry me out o' hand ; 
And I will tak' the nut-brown bride, 
Fair Annet may leave the land." 



I 



LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET. 125 

Up then rose fair Annet's father, 

Twa hours or it were day, 
And he has gane into the bower, 

Wherein fair Annet lay. 

" Rise up, rise up, fair Annet," he says, 
" Put on your silken sheen. 
Let us gae to Saint Marie's kirk, 
And see that rich weddin'." 

" My maids, gae to my dressing-room 
And dress to me my hair. 
Where'er ye laid a plait before. 
See ye lay ten times mair. 

" My maids, gae to my dressing-room 
And dress to me my smock. 
The ae half is o' the holland fine. 
The ither o' needle-work." 

The horse fair Annet rade upon. 

He amblit like the Avind, 
Wi' siller he was shod before, 

Wi' burning gowd behind. 

Four-and-twenty siller bells, 

Were a' tied to his mane, 
Wi' ae tift o' the norlan' wind. 

They tinkled ane by ane. 



126 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

Four-ancl-twenty gay gude knights, 
E-ade by fair An net's side, 

And four-and-twenty fair ladies, 
As gin she had been a bride. 

And when she cam' to Marie's kirk, 

She sat on Marie's stane ; 
The cleiding that fair Annet had on. 

It skinkled in their e'en. 

And when she cam' into the kirk, 
She skimmer'd like the sun ; 

The belt that was about her waist. 
Was a' wi' pearls bedone. 

She sat her by the nut-brown bride, 
And her e'en they were sae clear. 

Lord Thomas he clean forgot the bride, 
When fair Annet drew near. 

He had a rose into his hand. 

He gave it kisses three. 
And reaching by the nut-brown bride. 

Laid it on Annet's knee. 

Up then spak' the nut-brown bride. 
She spak' wi' meikle spite ; 
" Where gat ye that rose-water, Annet, 
That does mak' ye sae white ? " 



LOBJD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET. 127 

"01 did get the rose-water, 
Where ye'U get never iiane, 
For I did get that rose-water, 
Before that I was born. 

"Where I did get that rose-water, 
Ye'll never get the like ; 
For ye've been washed in Dunnie's well. 
And dried on Dunnie's dyke. 

" Tak' up and wear your rose, Thomas, 
And wear't wi' meikle care ; 
For the woman sail never bear a son 
That will mak' my heart sae sair." 

When night was come, and day was gane. 

And a' men boune to bed. 
Lord Thomas and the nut-brov/n bride 

In their chamber were laid. 

They were na weel lyen down. 

And scarcely fa'en asleep. 
When up and stands she, fair Annet, 

Just at Lord Thomas' feet. 

" Weel bruik ye o' your nut-brown bride. 
Between ye and the wa' ; 
And sae will I o' my winding-sheet. 
That suits me best of a'. 



128 BOM ANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

" Weel bruik ye o' your nut-brown bride, 
Between ye and the stock ; 
And sae will I o' my black, black kist, 
That has neither key nor lock ! " 

Lord Thomas rase, put on his claes. 
Drew till him hose and shoon ; 

And he is to fair Annet's bower, 
By the lee light o' the moon. 

The firsten bower that he cam' till, 
There was right dowie wark ; 

Her mither and her three sisters, 
Were making fair Annet a sark. 

The nexten bower that he cam' till. 
There was right dowie cheer ; 

Her father and her seven brethren. 
Were making fair Annet a bier. 

The lasten bower that he cam' till, 

heavy was his care. 
The deid candles were burning bright, 

Fair Annet was streekit there. 

"01 will kiss your cheek, Annet, 
And I will kiss your chin ; 
And I will kiss your clay-cauld lip, 
But I'll ne'er kiss woman again. 



THE BANKS 0' YARROW. 129 

" This day ye deal at Annet's wake, 
The bread but and the wine ; 
Before the morn at twa? o'clock, 
They'll deal the same at mine." 

The tane was buried in Marie's kirk. 

The tither in Marie's quire. 
And out o' the tane there grew a birk. 

And out o' the tither a brier. 

And ay they grew, and ay they drew, 

Until they twa did meet. 
And every ane that pass'd them by, 

Said, " Thae's been lovers sweet ! " 



THE BANKS 0' YAEEOW. 

Late at e'en, drinking the wine, 
And ere they paid thS lawing. 

They set a combat them between. 
To fight it in the dawing. 

" What though ye be my sister's lord, 
We'll cross our swords to-morrow." 

" What though my wife your sister be, 
I'll meet ye then on Yarrow.'^ 



130 EOMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

" stay at hame, my ain gude lord 1 
stay, my ain dear marrow ! 
My cruel brither will you betray 
On the dowie banks o' Yarrow." 

" fare ye weel, my lady dear ! 
And put aside your sorrow ; 
For if I gae, I'll sune return 

Frae the bonny banks o' Yarrow." 

She kiss'd his cheek, she kaim'd his hair, 
As oft she'd dune before, ; 

She belted him wi' his gude brand, 
And he's awa' to Yarrow. 

When he gaed up the Tennies bank, 
As he gaed mony a morrow. 

Nine armed men lay in a den, 
On the dowie braes o' Yarrow. 

" come ye here to hunt or hawk 
The bonny Forest thorough ? 
Or come ye here to wield your brand 
Upon the banks o' Yarrow ? " 

" I come not here to hunt or hawk. 
As oft I've dune before, 0, 
But I come here to wield my brand 
Upon the banks o' Yarrow. 



THE BANKS O' YAREOW. 131 

" If ye attack me nine to ane, 

Then may God send ye sorrow ! — 
Yet will I fight while stand I may, 
On the bonny banks o' Yarrow." 

Two has he hurt, and three has slain. 

On the bloody braes o' Yarrow ; 
But the stubborn knight crept in behind, 

And pierced his body thorough. 

^' Gae hame, gae hame, you brither John, 
And tell your sister sorrow, — 
To come and lift her leafu' lord 
On the dowie banks o' Yarrow." 

Her brither John gaed ower yon hill, 

As oft he'd dune before, ; 
There he met his sister dear, 

Cam' rinnin' fast to Yarrow. 

" I dreamt a dream last night," she says, 
" I wish it binna sorrow ; 
I dreamt I pu'd the heather green 
Wi' my true love on Yarrow." 

" I'll read your dream, sister," he says, 
" I'll read it into sorrow ; 
Ye're bidden go take up your love, 
He's sleeping sound on Yarrow." 



132 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

She's torn the ribbons frae her head 
That were baith braid and narrow ; 

She's kilted up her lang claithing, 
And she's awa' to Yarrow. 

She's ta'en him in her arms twa, 
And gien him kisses thorough ; 

She sought to bind his mony wounds, 
But he lay dead on Yarrow. 

" hand your tongue," her father says, 
^' And let be a' your sorrow ; 
I'll wed you to a better lord 
Than him ye lost on Yarrow." 

" hand your tongue, father," she says, 
" Far warse ye mak' my sorrow ; 
A better lord could never be 
Than him that lies on Yarrow." 

She kissed his lips, she kaim'd his hair. 
As oft she'd dune before, ; 

And there wi' grief her heart did break. 
Upon the banks o' Yarrow. 



THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY. 133 



THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY. 

EiSE up, rise up, now, Lord Douglas," she says, 
" And put on your armour so bright ; 

Lord William will hae Lady Margret awa 
Before that it be light." 

Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons, 
And put on your armour so bright, 

And take better care of your youngest sister. 
For your eldest's awa the last night." 

He's mounted her on a milk-white steed. 

And himself on a dapple gray, 
With a bugelet horn hung down by his side. 

And lightly they rode away. 

Lord William lookit o'er his left shoulder, 

To see what he could see, 
And there he spy'd her seven brethren bold. 

Come riding over the lee. 

' Light down, light down. Lady Margret," he said, 

" And hold my steed in your hand. 
Until that against your seven brethren bold, 
And your father, I mak' a stand," 



134 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 



She held his steed in her milk-white hand, 

And never shed one tear, 
Until that she saw her seven brethren fa', 

And her father hard lighting, who lov'd her so dear. 

" hold your hand. Lord William ! " she said, 
" For your strokes they are wondrous sair ; 
True lovers I can get many a ane, 
But a father I can never get mair." 

she's ta'en out her handkerchief. 

It was o' the holland sae fine. 
And aye she dighted her father's bloody wounds, 

That were redder than the wine. 

" chuse, chuse, Lady Margret," he said, 

'^ whether will ye gang or bide ? '^ 
*' I'll gang, I'll gang, Lord William," she said, 

" For ye have left me nae other guide." 

He's lifted her on a milk-white steed. 

And himself on a dapple gray, 
With a bugelet horn hung down by his side, 

And slowly they baith rade away. 

they rade on, and on they rade. 
And a' by the light of the moon. 
Until they came to yon wan water, 
^ And there they lighted down. 



1 



THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY. 135 

They lighted down to tak' a drink 

Of the spring that ran sae clear, 
And down the stream ran his gude heart's blood, 

And sair she gan to fear. 

" Hold up, hold up, Lord William," she says, 

" For I fear that you are slain ; " 
" 'Tis naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak. 

That shines in the water sae plain." 

they rade on, and on they rade, 

And a' by the light of the moon, 
Until they cam' to his mother's ha' door, 

And there they lighted down. 

" Get up, get up, lady mother," he says, 
" Get up, and let me in ! 
Get up, get up, lady mother," he says, 
^- For this night my fair lady I've win. 

" mak' my bed, lady mother," he says, 
" mak' it braid and deep. 
And lay Lady Margret close at my back, 
And the sounder I will sleep." 

Lord William was dead lang ere midnight, 

Lady Margret lang ere day. 
And all true lovers that go thegither. 

May they have mair luck than they ! 



136 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

Lord William was buried in St. Mary's kirk, 
Lady Margret in Mary's quire ; 

Out o' the lady's grave grew a bonny red rose, 
And out o' the knight's a briar. 

And they twa met, and they twa plat. 

And fain they wad be near ; 
And a' the warld might ken right weel 

They were twa lovers dear. 

But by and rade the Black Douglas, 

And wow but he was rough ! 
For he pull'd up the bonny briar, 

And flang't in St. Mary's Loch. 



FINE FLOWERS V THE VALLEY. 

There were three sisters in a ha', 
(Fine flowers i' the valley ;) 

There came three lords amang them a', 
(The red, green, and the yellow.) 

The first o' them was clad in red, 
(Fine flowers i' the valley ;) 
" lady, will ye be my bride ? " 

(Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.) 



FINE FLOWERS V THE VALLEY. 137 

The second o' them was clad in green, 
(Fine flowers i' the valley ;) 
" lady, will ye be my queen ? " 

(Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.) 

The third o' them was clad in yellow, 
(Fine flowers i' the valley ;) 
" lady, will ye be my marrow ? " 

(Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.) 

" ye maun ask my father dear, 
(Fine flowers i' the valley ;) 
Likewise the mother that did me bear ; " 
(Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.) 

" And ye maun ask my sister Ann, 
(Fine flowers i' the valley ;) 
And not forget my brother John ; " 
(Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.) 

"01 have ask'd thy father dear, 
(Fine flowers i' the valley ;) 
Likewise the mother that did thee bear ; " 
(Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.) 

" And I have ask'd your sister Ann, 
(Fine flowers i' the valley ;) 
But I forgot your brother John ; " 
(Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.) 



138 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

Now when the wedding day was come, 

(Fine flowers i' the valley ;) 
The knight would take his bonny bride home, 

(Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.) 

And mony a lord, and mony a knight, 

(Fine flowers i' the valley ;) 
Cam' to behold that lady bright, 

(Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.) 

There was nae man that did her see, 

(Fine flowers i' the valley ;) 
But wished himsell bridegroom to be, 

(Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.) 

Her father led her down the stair, 

(Fine flowers i' the valley ;) 
And her sisters twain they kiss'd her there ; 

(Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.) 

Her mother led her through the close, 

(Fine flowers i' the valley ;) 
Her brother John set her on her horse ; 

(AVi' the red, green, and the yellow.) 

" You are high, and I am low, 
(Fine flowers i' the valley ;) 
Give me a kiss before you go," 

(Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.) 



1 



I 



FINE FLOWERS V THE VALLEY. 139 

She was loiiting down to kiss liim sweet, 

(Fine flowers i' the valley ;) 
When wi' his knife he wounded her deep, 

(Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.) 

She hadna ridden through half the town, 

(Fine flowers i' the valley ;) 
Until her heart's blood stained her gown, 

(Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.) 

" Kide saftly on," said the best young man,- 

(Fine flowers i' the valley ;) 
" I think our bride looks pale and wan ! " 

(Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.) 

" lead me over into yon stile, 
(Fine flowers i' the valley ;) 
That I may stop and breathe awhile," 
(Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.) 

" lead me over into yon stair, 
(Fine flowers i' the valley ;) 
For there I'll lie and bleed nae mair," 
(Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.) 

" what will you leave to your father dear ? " 

(Fine flowers i' the valley ;) 
" The siller-shod steed that brought me here," 

(Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.) 



140 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

" What will you leave to your motlier dear ? " 

(Fine flowers i' the valley ;) 
" My wedding shift which I do wear," 

(Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.) 

" But she must wash it very clean, 
(Fine flowers i' the valley ;) 
For my heart's blood sticks in every seam." 
(Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.) 

" What will you leave to your sister Ann ? " 

(Fine flowers i' the valley ;) 
" My silken gown that stands its lane," 

(Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.) 

"And what will you leave to your brother John ? " 

(Fine flowers i' the valley ;) 
" The gates o' hell to let him in," 

(Wi' the red, green, and the yellow.) 



THE GAY GOSS-HAWK. 

" O WELL is me, my gay goss-hawk, 
That ye can speak and flee ; 
For ye shall carry a love-letter 
To my true-love frae me. 

" how shall I your true-love find, 
Or how should I her knaw ? 
I bear a tongue ne'er wi' her spake, 
An eye that ne'er her saw." 



THE GAY GOSS-HAWK. 141 

" well shall you ray true-love ken, 
Sae soon as her ye see, 
Yov of a' the flowers o' fair England, 
The fairest flower is she. 

" And when ye come to her castle. 
Light on the bush of ash, 
And sit ye there, and sing our loves, 
As she comes frae the mass. 

" And Avhen she goes into the house. 
Light ye upon the whin ; 
And sit ye there, and sing our loves. 
As she gaes out and in." 

Lord William has written a love-letter, 
Put in under the wing sae grey ; 

And the bird is awa' to southern land. 
As fast as he could gae. 

And when he flew to that castle, 

He lighted on the ash. 
And there he sat, and sang their loves, 

As she came frae the mass. 



And when she went into the house. 

He flew unto the whin ; 
And there he sat, and sang their loves. 

As she gaed out and in. 



142 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

" Feast on, feast on, my maidens a', 
The wine flows you amang, 
Till I gae to the west-window, 
And hear a birdie's sang." 

She's gane into the west-window, 

And fainly aye it drew. 
And soon into her white silk lap 

The bird the letter threw. 



" Ye're bidden send your love a send, 
For he has sent you three ; 
And tell him where he can see you, 
Or for your love he'll die." 

'•^ I send him the rings from my white fingers. 

The garlands aff my hair, 
I send him the heart that's in my breast. 

What would my love hae mair ? 
And at the fourth kirk in fair Scotland, 

Ye'll bid him meet me there." 

She's gane until her father dear. 
As fast as she could hie, 
" An asking, an asking, my father dear, 
An asking grant ye me ! 
That if I die in merry England, 
In Scotland you'll bury me. 



THE GAY G OSS-HAWK. 143 

" At the first kirk o' fair Scotland, 
Ye'll cause the bells be rung ; 
At the neist kirk o' fair Scotland 
Ye'll cause the mass be sung. 

" At the third kirk o' fair Scotland, 
Ye'll deal the gowd for me ; 
At the fourth kirk o' fair Scotland, 
It's there you'll bury me." 

She has ta'en her to her bigly bower, 

As fast as she could hie ; 
And she has drapped down like deid, 

Beside her mother's knee ; 
Then out and spak' an auld witch-wife, 

By the fire-side sate she. 

Says, — " Drap the het lead on her cheek. 

And drap it on her chin. 
And drap it on her rose-red lips. 

And she will speak again ; 
meikle will a maiden do. 

To her true love to win ! ". 



They drapt the het lead on her cheek, 
They drapt it on her chin, 

They drapt it on her rose-red lips, 
But breath was nane within. 



144 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS 

Then up arose her seven brothers, 

And made for her a bier ; 
The boards were of the cedar wood, 

The plates o' silver clear. 

And up arose her seven sisters, 

And made for her a sark ; 
The claith of it was satin fine, 

The steeking silken wark. 

The first Scots kirk that they cam' to, 
They gar'd the bells be rung ; 

The neist Scots kirk that they cam' to. 
They gar'd the mass be sung. 

The third Scots kirk that they cam' to. 
They dealt the gowd for her ; 

The fourth Scots kirk that they cam' to. 
Her true-love met them there. 

" Set down, set down the bier," he quoth. 
Till I look on the dead ; 
The last time that I saw her face. 
Her cheeks were rosy red." 

He rent the sheet upon her face, 

A little abune the chin ; 
And fast he saw her colour come. 

And sweet she smiled on him. 



YOUNG REDIN. 145 

" give me a chive of your bread, my love, 
And ae drap o' your wine ; 
For I have fasted for your sake, 
These weary lang days nine ! 

" Gae hame, gae hame, my seven brothers ; 
Gae hame an' blaw your horn ! 
I trow ye wad hae gi'en me the skaith, 
But I've gi'ed you the scorn. 

" I cam' not here to fair Scotland, 
To lie amang the dead ; 
But I cam' here to fair Scotland, 
Wi' my ain true-love to wed." 



YOUNG REDIK 

Fair Catherine from her bower-window 

Looked over heath and wood ; 
She heard a smit o' bridle-reins, 

And the sound did her heart good. 

" Welcome, young Redin, welcome ! 
And welcome again, my dear ! 
Light down, light down from your horse," she says, 
" It's long since you were here." 



146 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

*' gude morrow, lady, gude morrow, lady ; 
God mak' you safe and free ! 
I'm come to tak' my last fareweel, 
And pay my last visit togthee. 

" I mustna light, and I canna light, 
I winna stay at a' ; 
For a fairer lady than ten of thee 
Is waiting at Castleswa'." 

" if your love be changed, my dear, 
Since better may not be, 
Yet, ne'ertheless, for auld lang syne, 
Bide this ae night wi' me." 

She birl'd him wi' the ale and wine, 

As they sat down to sup ; 
A living man he laid him down. 
But I wot he ne'er rose up. 

" Now lie ye there, young Kedin," she says, 
" lie ye there till morn, — 
Though a fairer lady than ten of me 
Is waiting till you come home ! 

" lang, lang is the winter night. 
Till day begins to daw ; 
There is a dead man in my bower, 
And I would he were awa'." 



YOUNG REDIN. 147 

She cried upon her bower-maiden, 
Aye ready at her ca' : 
" There is a knight into my bower, 
'Tis time he were awa'." 

They've booted him and spurred him, 

As he was wont to ride, 
A hunting-horn tied round his waist, 

A sharp sword by his side ; 
And they've flung him into the wan water. 

The deepest pool in Clyde. 

Then up bespake a little bird 
That sate upon the tree, 
" Gae hame, gae hame, ye fause lady, 
And pay your maid her fee." 

" Come down, come down, my pretty bird, 
That sits upon the tree ; 
I have a cage of beaten gold, 
I'll gie it unto thee." 

" Gae hame, gae hame, ye fause lady ; 
I winna come down to thee ; 
For as ye have done to young Kedin, 
Ye'd do the like to me." 

there came seeking young Kedin 

Mony a lord and knight. 
And there came seeking young Redin 

Mony a lady bright. 



148 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

They've called on Lady Catherine, 
But she sware by oak and thorn 

That she saw him not, young Redin, 
Since yesterday at morn. 

The lady turned her round about, 
Wi' mickle mournfu' din : 
" It fears me sair o' Clyde water 
That he is drowned therein." 

Then up spake young Redin' s mither, 
The while she made her mane : 
" My son kenn'd a' the fords o' Clyde, 
He'd ride them ane by ane." 

" Gar douk, gar douk ! " his father he cried, 
" Gar douk for gold and fee ! 
wha will douk for young Redin's sake, 
And wha will douk for me ? " 

They hae douked in at ae weil-head. 
And out again at the ither : 
"We'll douk nae mair for young Redin, 
Although he were our brither." 

Then out it spake a little bird 
That sate upon the spray : 
" What gars ye seek him, young Redin, 
Sae early in the day ? 



YOUNG BEDIX. 149 

" Leave aff your douking on the day, 
And douk at dark o' night ; 
Aboon the pool young Redin lies in, 
The candles they'll burn bright." 

They left aff their douking on the day, 
They hae douked at dark o' night ; 

Aboon the pool where young Eedin lay, 
The candles they burned bright. 

The deepest pool in a' the stream 

They found young Redin in ; 
Wi' a great stone tied across his breast 

To keep his body down. 

Then up and spake the little bird, 

Says, " What needs a' this din ? 
It was Lady Catherine took his life. 

And hided him in the linn.'^ 

She sware her by the sun and moon, 

She sware by grass and corn. 
She hadna seen him, young Redin, 

Since Monanday at morn. 

" It's surely been my bower-woman, — 
ill may her betide ! 
I ne'er wad hae slain my young Redin, 
And thrown him in the Clyde," 



150 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

Now they hae cut baith fern and thorn, 
The bower-woman to brin ; 

And they hae made a big balefire, 
And put this maiden in ; 

But the fire it took na on her cheek, 
It took na on her chin. 

Out they hae ta'en the bower-woman. 

And put her mistress in ; 
The flame took fast upon her cheek, 

Took fast upon her chin, 
Took fast upon her fair bodie. 

Because of her deadly sin. 



WILLIE AND MAY MAEGARET. 

Willie stands in his stable, 

A-clapping of his steed ; 
And over his white fingers 

His nose began to bleed. 

" Gie corn to my horse, mither ; 
Gie meat unto my man ; 
For I maun gang to Margaret's bower. 
Before the night comes on." 

" stay at home, my son Willie ! 
The wind blaws cold and stour ; 
The night will be baith mirk and late, 
Before ye reach her bower." 



WILLIE AND MAT MARGARET. 151 

" tho' the night were ever sae dark, 
the wind blew never sae cauld, 
I will be in May Margaret's bower 
Before twa hours be tauld." 

" bide this night wi' me, Willie, 

bide this night wi' me ! 
The bestan fowl in a' the roost 

At your supper, my son, shall be.'* 

"A' your fowls, and a' your roosts, 

1 value not a pin ; 

I only care for May Margaret ; 

And ere night to her bower I'll win." 

" an ye gang to May Margaret 
Sae sair against my will. 
In the deepest pot o' Clyde's water 
My malison ye's feel ! " 

He mounted on his coal-black steed. 

And fast he rade awa' ; 
But ere he came to Clyde's water 

Fu' loud the wind did blaw. 

As he rade over yon hie hie hill, 

And doun yon dowie den, 
There was a roar in Clyde's water 

Wad feared a hundred men. 



152 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

But Willie has swam through Clyde's water, 
Though it was wide and deep ; 

And he came to May Margaret's door 
When a' were fast asleep. 

he's gane round and round about, 

And tirled at the pin. 
But doors were steeked and windows barred, 

And nane to let him in. 

" open the door to me, Margaret ! 

open and let me in ! 

For my boots are fu' o' Clyde's water, 
And frozen to the brim." 

" I daurna open the door to you, 

1 daurna let you in ; 

For my mither she is fast asleep. 
And I maun mak' nae din." 

" gin ye winna open the door, 
Nor be sae kind to me, 
Now tell me o' some out-chamber. 
Where I this night may be." 

" Ye canna win in this night, Willie, 
Nor here ye canna be ; 
For I've nae chambers out nor in, 
Nae ane but barely three. 



WILLIE AND MAY MARGARET. 153 

The tane is fu' to the roof wi' corn, 

The tither is fu' wi' hay ; 
The third is fu' o' merry young men, 

They winna remove till day." 

fare ye weel, then, May Margaret, 
Sin' better it mauna be. 

1 have won my mither's malison, 
Coming this night to thee." 

He's mounted on his coal-black steed, 

but his heart was wae ! 
But e'er he came to Clyde's water, 

'Twas half-way up the brae. 

When down he rade to the river-flood, 
'Twas fast flowing ower the brim ; 

The rushing that was in Clyde's water 
Took Willie's rod frae him. 

He leaned him ower his saddle-bow 

To catch his rod again ; 
The rushing that was in Clyde's water 

Took Willie's hat frae him. 

He leaned him ower his saddle-bow 

To catch his hat by force ; 
The rushing that was in Clyde's water 

Took Willie frae his horse, 



154 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

"01 canna turn my horse's head ; 
I canna strive to sowm ; 
I've gotten my mither's malison, 
And it's here that I maun drown ! " 

The very hour this young man sank 

Into the pot sae deep, 
Up wakened his love, May Margaret, 

Out of her heavy sleep. 

"Come hither, come hither, my minnie dear. 
Come hither read my dream ; 
I dreamed my love Willie was at our gates, 
And nane wad let him in." 

"Lie still, lie still, dear Margaret, 
Lie still and tak' your rest ; 
Your lover Willie was at the gates, 
'Tis but two quarters past." 

Nimbly, nimbly rase she up, 

And quickly put she on ; 
While ever against her window 

The louder blew the win'. 

Out she ran into the night. 

And down the dowie den •, 
The strength that was in Clyde's water 

Wad drown five hundred men. 



YOUNG BEICHAN. 155 

She stepped in to her ankle, 
She stepped free and bold ; 
" Ohone, alas ! " said that ladye, 
" This water is wondrous cold." 

The second step that she waded, 

She waded to the knee ; 
Says she, " I'd fain wade farther in, 

If I my love could see." 

The neistan step that she waded, 

She waded to the chin ; 
'Twas a whirlin' pot o' Clyde's water 

She got sweet Willie in. 

" ye've had a cruel mither, Willie ! 
And I have had anither ; 
But we shall sleep in Clyde's water 
Like sister and like brither." 



YOUNG BEICHAK 

In London was young Beichan born, 
He longed strange countries for to see, 

But he was ta'en by a savage Moor, 
Who handled him right cruellie. 

For he viewed the fashions of that land, 
Their way of worship viewed he, 

But to Mahound or Termagant 

Would Beichan never bend a knee. 



156 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS- 

So in every shoulder they've putten a bore, 
In every bore they've putten a tree. 

And they have made him trail the wine 
And spices on his fair bodie. 

They've casten him in a dungeon deep, 
Where he could neither hear nor see, 
For seven years they've kept him there, 
« Till he for hunger's like to dee. 

This Moor he had but ae daughter, 
Her name was called Susie Pye, 

And every day as she took the air, 
Near Beichan's prison she passed by. 

And so it fell upon a day, 

About the middle time of Spring, 

As she was passing by that way. 
She heard young Beichan sadly sing. 

All night long no rest she got. 

Young Beichan's song for, thinking on ; 

She's stown the keys from her father's head, 
And to the prison Strang is gone. 

And she has opened the prison doors, 
I wot she opened two or three, 

Ere she could come young Beichan at. 
He was locked up so curiouslie. 



I 



YOUNG BEICHAN. 157 

But when she cam' young Beichan till, 
Sore wondered he that may to see ; 

He took her for some fair captive : 

" Fair lady, I pray, of what countrie ? " 

" have ye any lands," she said, 
" Or castles in your own countrie, 
That ye could give to a lady fair, 

From prison Strang to set you free ? '^ 

" Near London town I have a hall, 
And other castles two or three ; 
I'll give them all to the lady fair 
That out of prison will set me free." 

" Give me the truth of your right hand, 

The truth of it give unto me, 
That for seven years ye'll no lady wed, 
Unless it be alang with me." 

" I'll give thee the truth of my right hand, 
The truth of it I'll freely gie. 
That for seven years I'll stay unwed, 
For the kindness thou dost show to me." 

And she has brib'd the proud warder, 

Wi' mickle gold and white monie. 
She's gotten the keys of the prison Strang, 

And she has set young Beichan free. 



158 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

She's gi'en him to eat the good spice-cake^ 
She's gi'en him to drink the blade-red wine, 

She's bidden him sometimes think on her, 
That sae kindly freed him out o' pine. 

And she has broken her finger-ring, 
And to Beichan half of it gave she : 
" Keep it, to mind yon in foreign land 
Of the lady's love that set you free. 

" And set your foot on good ship-board. 

And haste ye back to your ain countrie, 

And before that seven years have an end. 

Come back again, love, and marry me." 

But lang ere seven years had an end, 
She longed full sore her love to see. 

So she's set her foot on good ship-board, 
And turned her back on her ain countrie. 

She sailed east, she sailed west. 

Till to fair England's shore she came. 

Where a bonny she]3herd she espied. 
Was feeding his sheep upon the plain. 

" What news, what news, thou bonny shepherd ? 

What news hast thou to tell to me ? " 
" Such news I hear, ladie," he says, 

" The like was never in this countrie. 



YOUNG BEICHAN. 159 

" There is a wedding in yonder hall, 
And ever the bells ring merrilie ; 
It is Lord Beichan's wedding-day 
Wi' a lady fair o' high degree." 

She's putten her hand into her pocket, 
Gi'en him the gold and white monie ; 
" Hay, take ye that, my bonny boy, 
All for the news thou tell'st to me." 

When she came to young Beichan's gate, 

She tirled saftly at the pin ; 
So ready was the proud porter 

To open and let this lady in. 

" Is this young Beichan's hall," she said, 

" Or is that noble lord within ? " 
" Yea, he's in the hall among them all. 

And this is the day o' his weddin." 

" And has he wed anither love ? 

And has he clean forgotten me ? " 
And sighin said that ladie gay, 

"I wish I were in my ain countrie." 

And she has ta'en her gay gold ring 
That with her love she brake sae free ; 

Says, " Gie him that, ye proud porter, 
And bid the bridegroom speak wi' me." 



160 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

When the porter came his lord before, 
He kneeled down low upon his knee : 
'• What aileth thee, my proud porter, 
Thou art so full of courtesie ? " 

" IVe been porter at your gates, 

It's now for thirty years and three ; 
But the lovely lady that stands thereat. 
The like o' her did I never see. 

" For on every finger she has a ring, 

And on her mid-finger she has three. 
And meikle gold aboon her brow. 
Sae fair a may did I never see." 

It's out then spak the bride's mother. 
And an angry woman, I wot, was she : 
" Ye might have excepted our bonny bride, 
And twa or three of our companie." 

" hold your tongue, thou bride's mother. 
Of all your folly let me be ; 
She's ten times fairer nor the bride, 
And all that's in your companie. 

" And this golden ring that's broken in twa, 
This half o' a golden ring sends she : 

' Ye'U carry that to Lord Beichan,' she says, 
*And bid him come an' speak wi' me.' 



YOUNG BEICHAN. 161 

" She begs one slieave of your white bread, 

But and a cup of your red wine, 
And to remember the lady's love 
That last relieved you out of pine." 

" well-a-day ! " said Beichan then, 
" That I so soon have married me ! 
For it can be none but Susie Pye, 
That for my love has sailed the sea." 

And quickly hied he down the stair ; 

Of fifteen steps he made but three ; 
He's ta'en his bonny love in his arms 

And kist and kist her tenderlie. 

" hae ye ta'en anither bride ? 

And hae ye clean forgotten me ? 
And hae ye quite forgotten her 
That gave you life and libertie ? '^ 

She lookit o'er her left shoulder, 
To hide the tears stood in her ee : 
" Now fare thee well, young Beichan," she says, 
" I'll try to think no more on thee." 

" never, never, Susie Pye, 

For surely this can never be, 
Nor ever shall I wed but her 

That's done and dreed so much for me." 



162 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

Then out and spak the forenoon bride : 
'' My lord, your love it changeth soon. 

This morning I was made your bride, 
And another chose ere it be noon." 

*' hold thy tongue, thou forenoon bride, 
Ye're ne'er a whit the worse for me. 
And whan ye return to your ain land, 
A double dower I'll send with thee." 

He's ta'en Susie Pye by the milkwhite hand. 
And led her thro' the halls sae hie. 

And aye as he kist her red-rose lips, 
" Ye're dearly welcome, jewel, to me." 

He's ta'en her "by the milkwhite hand. 
And led her to yon fountain-stane ; 

He's changed her name from Susie Pye, 
And call'd her his bonny love, Lady Jane. 



GILDEROY. 

GiLDEROY was a bonnie boy, 

Had roses till his shoon, 
His stockings were of silken soy, 

Wi' garters hanging doun : 
It was, I ween, a comely sight, 

To see sae trim a boy ; 
He was my joy and heart's delight, 

My winsome Gilderoy. 



GILDEIiOY. 163 

sic twa charming e'en lie had, 

A breath as sweet as rose, 
He never ware a Highland plaid, 

But costly silken clothes ; 
He gained the love of ladies gay, 

Nane e'er to him was coy ; 
Ah, wae is me ! I mourn this day 

For my dear Gilderoy. 

My Gilderoy and I were born 

Baith in one toun together, 
We scant were seven years beforn . 

We 'gan to luve each ither ; 
Our daddies and our mammies they 

Were fill'd wi' meikle joy, 
To think upon the bridal day 

Of me and Gilderoy. 

For Gilderoy, that luve of mine, 

Gude faith, I freely bought 
A wedding sark of Holland fine, 

Wi' dainty ruffles wrought ; 
And he gied me a wedding-ring, 

Which I received wi' joy ; 
Nae lad nor lassie e'er could sing 

Like me and Gilderoy. 

Wi' meikle joy we spent our prime, 

Till we were baith sixteen, 
And aft we passed the langsam time 

Amang the leaves sae green ; 



164 BOMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

Aft on the banks Ave'd sit us there, 
And sweetly kiss and toy ; 

Wi' garlands gay wad deck my hair 
My handsome Gilderoy. 

that he still had been content 
Wi' me to lead his life ! 

But ah. his manfu' heart was bent 

To stir in feats of strife. 
And he in many a venturous deed 

His courage bold wad try ; 
And now this gars my heart to bleed 

For my dear Gilderoy. 

And when of me his leave he took, 
The tears they wat mine e'e ; 

1 gied him sic a parting Icfbk : 
" My benison gang wi' thee ! 

God speed thee weel, my ain dear heart, 

For gane is all my joy ; 
My heart is rent sith we maun part, 

My handsome Gilderoy." 

The Queen of Scots possessed nought 

That my luve let me want ; 
For cow and ewe he to me brought, 

And e'en when they were scant : 
All these did honestly possess, 

He never did annoy 
Who never failed to pay their cess 

To my luve Gilderoy. 



GIL DE ROY. 165 

My Gilderoy, baith far and near. 

Was fear'd in every toun, 
And bauldly bare awa' the gear 

Of many a lawland loun : 
For man to man durst meet him nane, 

He was sae brave a boy ; 
At length with numbers he was ta'en, 

My winsome Gilderoy. 

Wae worth the loun that made the laws, 

To hang a man for gear ; 
To reive of life for sic a cause, 

As stealing horse or mare ! 
Had not these laws been made sae strick, 

I ne'er had lost my joy, 
Wi' sorrow ne'er had wat my cheek, 

For my dear Gilderoy. 

Gif Gilderoy had done amiss, 

He might have banished been. 
Ah, what sair cruelty is this, 

To hang sic handsome men ! 
To hang the flower o' Scottish land, 

Sae sweet and fair a boy ! 
Nae lady had so white a hand 

As thee, my Gilderoy. 

Of Gilderoy sae 'fraid they were, 

They bound him meikle strong, 
To Edinburgh they took him there, 

And on a gallows hung : 



166 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

They hung hiin high aboon the rest, 

He was sae trim a boy ; 
There died the youth whom I lo'ed best, 

My handsome Gilderoy. 

Sune as he yielded up his breath, 

I bare his corpse away, 
Wi' tears that trickled for his death, 

I wash'd his comely clay ; 
And sicker in a grave sae deep 

I laid the dear-lo'ed boy ; 
And now forever I maun weep 

My winsome Gilderoy. 



BONKY BAEBAEA ALLAK 

It was in and about the Martinmas time, 
When the green leaves were a falling, 

That Sir John Graeme, in the West Country, 
Fell in love with Barbara Allan. 

He sent his men down through the town. 
To the place where she was dwelling : 

" haste and come to my master dear, 
Gin ye be Barbara Allan." 

O hooly, hooly rose she up. 

To the place where he was lying. 

And when she drew the curtain by, 
*' Young man, I think you're dying." 



BOI^NT BABBABA ALLAN. 167 

" it's I'm sick, and veiy, very sick, 

And it's a' for Barbara Allan ; " 
" the better for me ye's never be, 
Tho your heart's blood were a spilling. 

" O dinna ye mind, young man," said she, 
'' When ye was in the tavern a drinking, 

That ye made the healths gae round and round, 
And slighted Barbara Allan ? " 

He turned his face unto the wall, 

And death was with him dealing ; 
" Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all, 
And be kind to Barbara Allan." 

And slowly, slowlj^ raise she up, 

And slowly, slowly left him. 
And sighing said, she could not stay, 

Since death of life had reft him. 

She had not gane a mile but twa. 
When she heard the dead-bell ringing. 

And every jow that the dead-bell gied. 
It cry'd. Woe to Barbara Allan ! 

"0 mother, mother, make my bed ! 

make it saft and narrow ! 
Since my love died for me to-day, 
I'll die for him to-morrow,'^ 



168 BOMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 



THE GARDENER. 

The gard'ner stands in his bower door, 

Wi' a primrose in his hand, 
And by there cam' a leal maiden, 

As jimp as a willow wand. 

*• ladie, can ye fancy me. 
For to be my bride ? 
Ye'se get a' the flowers in my garden. 
To be to you a weed. 

" The lily white sail be your smock ; 
It becomes your bodie best ; 
Your head sail be buskt wi' gilly-flower, 
Wi' the primrose in your breast. 

" Your goun sail be the sweet-william ; 
Your coat the camovine ; 
Your apron o' the sallads neat. 
That taste baith sweet and fine. 

" Your hose sail be the brade kail-blade, 
That is baith brade and lang ; 
Narrow, narrow at the cute, 
And brade, brade at the brawn. 






ETIN THE FORESTER. 169 

" Your gloves sail be the marigold, 
All glittering to your hand, 
Weel spread owre wi' the blue blaewort, 
That grows amang corn-land." 

" fare ye weil, young man," she says, 
" Farewell, and I bid adieu ; 
If you can fancy me," she says, 
" I canna fancy you. 

" Sin' ye've provided a weed for me 

Amang the simmer flowers. 

It's I'se provide anither for you, 

Amang the winter-showers : 

^' The new fawn snaw to be your smock ; 
It becomes your bodie best ; 
Your head sail be wrapt wi' the eastern wind. 
And the cauld rain on your breast." 



ETIN THE FORESTER. 

Lady Margaret sits in her bower door, 

Sewing her silken seam ; 
She heard a note in Elmond's wood. 

And wished she there had been. 

She loot the seam fa' frae her side. 

And the needle to her tae. 
And she is aff to Elmond's wood 

As fast as she could gae. 



170 BOM ANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut, 
Nor broken a branch, but ane. 

Till by there cam' a young hynd chiel, 
Says, " Lady, lat alane. 

" O why pu' ye the nut, the nut, 

Or why brake ye the tree ? 
For I am forester o' this wood : 
Ye should spier leave at me." 

"I'll spier leave at na living man, 
Nor yet will I at thee ; 
My father is king o'er a' this realm, 
This wood belangs to me." 

" You're welcome to the wood, Marg'ret, 
You're welcome here to me ; 
A fairer bower than e'er you saw, 
I'll bigg this night for thee." 

He has bigged a bower beside the thorn. 
He has fenced it up wi' stane. 

And there within the Elmond wood, 
They twa has dwelt their lane. 

He kept her in the Elmond wood. 
For twelve lang years and mair ; 

And seven fair sons to Hjmd Etin, 
Did that gay lady bear. 



ETIN THE FORESTER. 171 

It fell out ance upon a day, 

To the hunting he has gane ; 
And he has ta'en his eldest son, 

To gang alang wi' him. 

When they were in the gay greenwood, 

They heard the mavis sing ; 
When they were up aboon the brae, 

They heard the kirk bells ring. 

"01 wad ask ye something, father, 

An' ye wadna angry be ! " 
" Say on, say on, my bonny boy, 

Ye'se nae be quarrell'd by me." 

" My mither's cheeks are aft-times weet, 
It's seldom they are dry ; 
What is't that gars my mither greet. 
And sob sae bitterlie ? " 

" Nae wonder she suld greet, my boy, 

Nae wonder she suld pine. 
For it is twelve lang years and mair. 

She's seen nor kith nor kin, 
And it is twelve lang years and mair. 

Since to the kirk she's been. 

" Your mither was an Earl's daughter. 
And cam' o' high degree, 
And she might hae wedded the first in the land. 
Had she nae been stown by me. 



172 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

" For I was but her father's page, 
And served him on my knee ; 
And yet my love was great for her, 
And sae was hers for me." 

" I'll shoot the laverock i' the lift, 
The buntin on the tree, 
And bring them to my mither hame, 
See if she'll merrier be." 

It fell upon anither day, 
This forester thought lang ; 

And he is to the hunting gane 
The forest leaves amang. 

Wi' bow and arrow by his side, 

He took his path alane ; 
And left his seven young children 

To bide wi' their mither at hame. 

"01 wad ask ye something, mither, 

An ye wadna angry be." 
" Ask on, ask on, my eldest son ; 

Ask ony thing at me." 

" Your cheeks are af t-times weet, mither ; 

You're greetin', as I can see." 
" Nae wonder, nae wonder, my little son, 

Nae wonder thouofh I should dee ! 



ETIN THE FORESTER. 173 

" For I was ance an Earl's daughter, 
Of noble birth and fame ; 
And now I'm the mither o' seven sons 
Wha ne'er gat christendame." 

He's ta'en his mither by the hand, 

His six brithers also, 
And they are on through Elmond-wood 

As fast as they could go. 

They wistna weel wha they were gaen, 

And weary were their feet ; 
They wistna weel wha they were gaen, 

Till they stopped at her father's gate. 

" I hae nae money in my pocket, 
But jewel-rings I hae three ; 
I'll gie them to you, my little son, 
And ye'll enter there for me. 

" Ye'll gie the first to the proud porter, 
And he will lat you in ; 
Ye'll gie the next to the butler-boy, 
And he will show you ben. 

" Ye'll gie the third to the minstrel 
That's harping in the ha', 
And he'll play gude luck to the bonny boy 
That comes frae the greenwood shaw." 



174 a OMAN TIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

He gied the first to the proud porter, 
And he opened and lat him in ; 

He gied the next to the butler-boy, 
And he has shown him ben ; 

He gied the third to the minstrel 

Was harping in the ha', 
And he played gude luck to the bonny boy 

That cam' frae the greenwood shaw. 

Now when he cam' before the Earl, 

He louted on his knee ; 
The Earl he turned him round about, 

And the saut tear blint his e'e. 

" Win up, win up, thou bonny boy. 
Gang frae my companie ; 
Ye look sae like my dear daughter, 
My heart will burst in three ! " 

" If I look like your dear daughter, 
A wonder it is nane ; 
If I look like your dear daughter, 
I am her eldest son." 

" tell me soon, ye little wee boy. 
Where may my JMargaret be ? " 

" She's e'en now standing at your gates. 
And my six brithers her wi'." 



ETIN THE FORESTER, 175 

" where are a' my porter-boys 
That I pay meat and fee, 
To open my gates baith braid and wide, 
And let her come in to me ? " 

When she cam' in before the Earl, 
She fell doun low on her knee : 
" Win up, win up, my daughter dear ; 
This day ye'se dine wi' me." 

" Ae bit I canna eat, father, 
Ae drop I canna drink, 
Till I see Etin, my husband dear ; 
Sae lang for him I think ! '^ 

" where are a' my rangers bold 
That I pay meat and fee, 
To search the forest far and wide, 
And bring Hynd Etin to me ? " 

Out it speaks the little wee boy : 

"Na, na, this maunna be; 
Without ye grant a free pardon, 
I hope ye'll na him see ! " 

" here I grant a free pardon. 
Well sealed wi' my ain han' ; 
And mak' ye search for Hynd Etin, 
As sune as ever ye can." 



176 ROMANTIC ANB DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

They searched the country braid and wide, 

The forest far and near, 
And they found him into Elmond-wood, 

Tearing his yellow hair. 

" Win up, win up now, Hynd Etin, 
Win up and boun' wi' me ; 
For we are come frae the castle. 
And the Earl wad fain you see." 

" lat him tak' my head," he says, 
" Or hang me on a tree ; 
For sin' I've lost my dear lady. 
My life's nae worth to me ! " 

" Your head will na be touched, Etin, 
Nor sail you hang on tree ; 
Your lady's in her father's court. 
And all he wants is thee.'^ 

When he cam' in before the Earl, 
He louted on his knee : 
" Win up, win up now, Hynd Etin ; 
This day ye'se dine wi' me." 

As they were at their dinner set, 
The boy he asked a boon : 
" I wold we were in haly kirk. 
To get our christendoun. 



1 



LAMEIN. 177 

" For we hae lived in gude greenwood 
These twelve lang years and ane ; 
But a' this time since e'er I mind 
Was never a kirk within." 

" Your asking's na sae great, my boy, 
But granted it sail be : 
This day to haly kirk sail ye gang, 
And your mither sail gang you wi 



J jj 



When she cam' to the haly kirk. 
She at the door did stan' ; 

She was sae sunken doun wi' shame, 
She couldna come farther ben. 

Then out it spak' the haly priest, 

Wi' a kindly word spak' he : 
" Come ben, come ben, my lily -flower. 
And bring your babes to me." 



LAMKIK 



It's Lamkin was a mason good 
As ever built Avi' stane ; 

He built Lord Wearie's castle, 
But payment gat he nane. 

" pay me. Lord Wearie, 
Come, pay me my fee : " 

"I canna pay you, Lamkin, 

For I maun gang o'er the sea.'^ 



178 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

" pay me now, Lord Wearie, 
Come, pay me out o' hand : " 

" I canna pay you, Lamkin, 
Unless I sell my land." 

" gin ye winna pay me, 

I here sail mak^ a vow, 
Before that ye come hame again, 

Ye sail hae cause to rue." 

Lord Wearie got a bonny ship, 
To sail the saut sea faem ; 

Bade his lady weel the castle keep, 
Ay till he should come hame. 

But the nourice was a fause limmer 

As e'er hung on a tree ; 
She laid a plot wi' Lamkin, 

Whan her lord was o'er the sea. 

She laid a plot wi' Lamkin, 
When the servants were awa', 

Loot him in at a little shot-window, 
And brought him to the ha'. 

" Where's a' the men o' this house. 

That ca' me Lamkin ? " 
" They're at the barn-well thrashing ; 

'Twill be lang ere they come in." 



LAMKIN. 179 

^' And Where's the women o' this house, 

That ca' me Lamkin ? " 
" They're at the far well washing ; 

'Twill be lang ere they come in." 

" And Where's the bairns o' this house, 

That ca' me Lamkin ? " 
" They're at the school reading ; 

'Twill be night or they come hame." 

" Where's the lady o' this house. 

That ca's me Lamkin ? " 
'' She's up in her bower sewing, 

But we soon can bring her down." 

Then Lamkin's tane a sharp knife, 

That hang down by his gaire, 
And he has gi'en the bonny babe 

A deep wound and a sair. 

Then Lamkin he rocked, 

And the fause nourice she sang. 

Till frae ilka bore o' the cradle 
The red blood out sprang. 

Then out it spak' the lady, 

As she stood on the stair : 
'^ What ails my bairn, nourice. 
That he's greeting sae sair ? 



180 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

" still my bairn, nourice, 

still him wi' the pap ! " 
"He winna still, lady. 

For this nor for that.'' 

" O still my bairn, nourice, 
still him wi' the wand ! '' 

" He winna still, lady, 
For a' his father's land." 

" O still my bairn, nourice, 

still him wi' the bell ! " 
" He winna still, lady. 

Till you come down yoursel." 

O the firsten step she steppit. 

She steppit on a stane ; 
But the neisten step she steppit, 

She met him Lamkin. 

"0 mercy, mercy, Lamkin, 

Hae mercy upon me ! 
Though you've ta'en my young son's life, 
Ye may let mysel be." 

" sail I kill her, nourice. 

Or sail I lat her be ? " 
" kill her, kill her, Lamkin, 

For she ne'er was good to me." 



LAMKIN. ' 181 

" scour the bason, iiourice, 

And mak' it fair and clean, 
Tor to keep this lady's heart's blood, 

For she's come o' noble kin." 

" There need nae bason, Lamkin, 
Lat it run through the floor ; 
What better is the heart's blood 
0' the rich than o' the poor ? " 

But ere three months were at an end, 

Lord Wearie cam' again ; 
But dowie, dowie was his heart 

When first he cam' hame. 

'• wha's blood is this," he says, 

" That lies in the chamer ? " 
" It is your lady's heart's blood ; 

'Tis as clear as the lamer." 

"And wha's blood is this," he says, 

" That lies in my ha' ? " 
" It is your young son's heart's blood ; 

'Tis the clearest ava." 

O sweetly sang the black-bird 

That sat upon the tree ; 
But sairer grat Lamkin, 

When he was condemnd to die. 



182 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

And bonny sang the mavis, 
Out o' the thorny brake ; 

But sairer grat the nourice, 

When she was tied to the stake. 



HUGH OF LIKCOLK 

Four and twenty bonny boys 

Were playing at the ba', 
And up it stands him sweet Sir Hugh, 

The flower amang them a'. 

He kicked the ba' there wi' his foot. 

And keppit it wi' his knee, 
Till even in at the Jew's window 

He gart the bonny ba' flee, 

'' Cast out the ba' to me, fair maid, 

Cast out that ba' o' mine." 
" Never a bit," says the Jew's daughter, 

" Till ye come up an' dine. 

" Come up, sweet Hugh, come up, dear Hugh, 

Come up and get the ba'." 
"I winna come, I maynacome. 

Without my bonny boys a'," 



HUGH OF LINCOLN. 183 

She's ta'en her to the Jew's garden, 
Where the grass grew lang and green, 

She's pu'd an apple red and white, 
To wyle the bonny boy in. 

She's Avyled him in through ae chamber, 

She's wyled him in through twa, 
She's wyled him into the third chamber, 

And that was the warst o' a'. 

She's tied the little boy, hands and feet, 

She's pierced him wi' a knife. 
She's caught his heart's blood in a golden cup, 

And twinn'd him o' his life. 

She row'd him in a cake o' lead, 

Bade him lie still and sleep. 
She cast him into a deep draw-well, 

Was fifty fathom deep. 

When bells were rung, and mass was sung. 

And every bairn went hame. 
Then ilka lady had her young son. 

But Lady Helen had nane. 

She's row'd her mantle her about. 

And sair, sair 'gan she weep ; 
And she ran unto the Jew's house. 

When they were all asleep. 



184 BOMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

" My bonny Sir Hugh, my pretty Sir Hugh, 

I pray thee to me speak ! " 
^' Lady Helen, come to the deep draw-well 

Gin ye your son wad seek." 

Lady Helen ran to the deep draw-well. 
And knelt upon her knee : 
^^My bonny Sir Hugh, an ye be here, 
I pray thee speak to me ! " 

^' The lead is wondrous heavy, mither, 
The well is wondrous deep ; 
A keen penknife sticks in my heart, 
It is hard for me to speak. 

^' Gae hame. gae hame, my mither dear. 
Fetch me my winding-sheet ; 
And at the back o' merry Lincoln, 
It's there we twa sail meet." 

Now Lady Helen she's gane hame. 

Made him a winding-sheet ; 
And at the back o' merry Lincoln, 

The dead corpse did her meet. 

And a' the bells o' merry Lincoln 
Without men's hands were rung ; 

And a' the books o' merry Lincoln 
Were read without men's tongue : 

Never was such a burial 
Sin' Adam's days begun. 



FAIR ANNIE. 185 



EAIR AKNIE. 



" Learn to mak' your bed, Annie, 
And learn to lie your lane ; 
For I am going ayont the sea, 
A braw bride to bring hame. 

" Wi' her I'll get baith gowd and gear, 
Wi' thee I ne'er gat nane ; 
I got thee as a waif woman, 
I'll leave thee as the same. 

"But wha will bake my bridal bread, 
And brew my bridal ale, 
And wha will welcome my bright bride, 
That I bring owre the dale ? " 

" It's I will bake your bridal bread, 
And brew your bridal ale ; 
And I will welcome your bright bride, 
When she comes owre the dale." 

He set his foot into the stirrup. 

His hand upon the mane ; 
Says, " It will be a year and a day, 

Ere ye see me again," 



186 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

Fair Annie stood in her bower door, 
And looked out o'er the Ian', 

And there she saw her ain gude lord 
Leading his bride by the han'. 

She's drest her sons i' the scarlet red, 
Hersel i' the dainty green ; 

And tho' her cheek look'd pale and wan, 
She weel might hae been a queen. 

She called upon her eldest son ; 

" Look yonder what ye see, 
For yonder comes your father dear, 

Your stepmither him wi'. 

<^Ye're welcome hame, my ain gude lord, 
To your halls but and your bowers ; 

Ye're welcome hame, my ain gude lord, 
To your castles and your towers ; 

Sae is your bright bride you beside, 
She's fairer than the flowers ! '^ 

" I thank ye, I thank ye, fair maiden, 
That speaks sae courteouslie ; 
If I be lang about this house, 
Kewarded ye sail be. 

" O what'n a maiden's that," she sayS; 
" That welcomes you and me ? 
She is sae like my sister Annie, 
Was stown i' the bower frae me." 



FAIR ANNIE. 187 

she has served the lang tables, 
Wi' the white bread and the wine ; 

But ay she drank the wan water, 
To keep her colour line. 

And as she gaed by the first table, 

She leugh amang them a' ; 
But ere she reach'd the second table, 

She loot the tears doun fa\ 

She's ta'en a napkin lang and white, 

And hung it on a pin ; 
And it was a' to dry her e'en. 

As she ga'ed out and in. 

When bells were rung, and mass was sung, 

And a' men boun to bed, 
The bride but and the bonny bridegroom, 

In ae chamber were laid. 

She's ta'en her harp intill her hand, 

To harp this twa asleep ; 
And ay as she harped and as she sang. 

Full sairly did she weep. 

" seven full fair sons hae I born, 
To the gude lord o' this place ; 
And that they were seven young hares, 

And them to rin a race. 
And I mysel a gude greyhound. 
And I wad gie them chase ! 



188 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 



'• seven full fair sons hae I born 

To the gude lord o' this ha' ; 
And O that they were seven rattons 

To rin frae wa' to wa', 
And I mysel a gude grey cat, 

And I wad worry them a' ! " 

" My goun is on," said the new-come bride, 
" My shoon are on my feet ; 
And I will to fair Annie's chamber. 
And see what gars her greet. 

" wha was't was your father, Annie, 
And wha was't was your mither ? 
And had ye ony sister, Annie, 
Or had ye ony brither ? " 

*< The Earl o' Eichmond was my father, 
His lady was my mither. 
And a' the bairns beside mysel. 
Was a sister and a brither." 

*< O weel befa' your sang, Annie, 
I wat ye hae sung in time ; 
Gin the Earl o' Eichmond was your father, 
I wat sae was he mine. 

" keep your lord, my sister dear. 
Ye never were wranged by me ; 
I had but ae kiss o' his merry mouth. 
As we cam' owre the sea. 



I 



1 



THE LAIRD O' DRUM. 189 

There were five sMps o' gude red gold 

Cam' owre the seas wi' me, 
It's twa o' them will tak' me hame, 

And three I'll leave wi' thee." 



THE LAIRD O' DEUM. 

The Laird o' Drum is a-hunting gane, 

All in a morning early, 
And he has spied a weel-faur'd May, 

A-shearing at her barley. 

" My bonny May, my weel-faur'd May, 
O will ye fancy me, ? 
Wilt gae and be the Leddy o' Drum, 
And let your shearing a-be, ? '' 

" It's I winna fancy you, kind sir, 
Nor let my shearing a-be, ; 
For I'm ower low to be Leddy Drum, 
And your light love I'll never be, 0." 

'' Gin ye'll cast aff that goun o' gray, 
Put on the silk for me, 0, 
I'll mak' a vow, and keep it true, 
A light love you'll never be, 0." 



190 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

" My father he is a shepherd mean, 
Keeps sheep on yonder hill, 0, 
And ye may gae and speer at him, 
For I am at his will, 0." 

Drum is to her father gane. 

Keeping his sheep on yon hill, : 
" I am come to marry your ae daughter, 
If ye'll gie me your good-will, 0.'^ 

" My dochter can naether read nor write, 
She ne'er was brocht up at scheel, ; 
But weel can she milk baith cow and ewe, 
And mak' a kebbuck weel, 0. 

" She'll shake your barn, and win your corn, 
And gang to kiln and mill, ; 
She'll saddle your steed in time o' need, 
And draw aff your boots hersell, 0." 

" I'll learn your lassie to read and write. 
And I'll put her to the scheel, ; 
She shall neither need to saddle my steed, 
Nor draw aff my boots hersell, 0. 

"But wha will bake my bridal bread, 
Or brew my bridal ale, ; 
And wha will welcome my bonnie bride 
Is mair than I can tell, 0." 



THE LAIRD O' DBUM, 191 

Four-and-twenty gentlemen 

Gaed in at th.e yetts of Drum, : 
But no a man has lifted his hat, 

When the Leddy o' Drum cam' in, 0. 

" Peggy Coutts is a very bonny bride, 
And Drum is big and gawsy ; 
But he might hae chosen a higher match 
Than ony shepherd's lassie ! " 

Then up bespak his brither John, 

Says, " Ye've done us meikle wrang, ; 

Ye've married ane far below our degree, 
A mock to a' our kin, 0." 

"Now hand your tongue, my brither John ; 
What needs it thee offend, ? 
I've married a wife to work and win. 
And ye've married ane to spend, 0. 

" The first time that I married a wife. 

She was far abune my degree, ; 
She wadna hae walked thro' the yetts o' Drum, 

But the pearlin' abune her bree, 0, 
And I durstna gang in the room where she was, 

But my hat below my knee, ! " 

He has ta'en her by the milk-white hand. 

And led her in himsell, ; 
And in through ha's and in through bowers, — 

"And ye're welcome, Leddy Drum, 0." 



192 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

When they had eaten and well drunken, 
And a' men boun for bed, 0, 

The Laird of Drum and his Leddy fair, 
In ae bed they were laid, 0. 

" Gin ye had been o' high renown, 
As ye're o' low degree, 0, 
We might hae baith gane doun the street 
Amang gude companie, 0.^' 

" I tauld ye weel ere we were wed, 
Ye were far abune my degree, ; 
But now I'm hiarried, in your bed laid, 
And just as gude as ye, 0. 

" For an I were dead, and ye were dead. 
And baith in ae grave had lain, ; 
Ere seven years were come and gane, 
They'd no ken your dust frae mine, 0." 



LIZIE LINDSAY. 

" Will ye gae to the Hielands, Lizie Lindsay, 
Will ye gae to the Hielands wi' me ? 
Will ye gae to the Hielands, Lizie Lindsay, 
And dine on fresh curds and green whey ? '^ 

Then out it spak' Lizie's mither, 
An' a gude auld leddy was she : 
" Gin ye say sic a word to my daughter, 
I'll gar ye be hangit hie ! '^ 



I 



LIZIE LINDSAY. 193 

" Keep weel your daughter for me, madam ; 
Keep weel your daughter for me. 
I care as leetle for your daughter 
As ye can care for me ! " 

Then out spak' Lizie's ain maiden, 
An' a bonnie young lassie was she ; 
"Now gin I were heir to a kingdom, 
Awa' wi' young Donald I'd be." 

" say ye sae to me, Nelly ? 
And does my Nelly say sae ? 
Maun I leave my father and mither, 
Awa' wi' young Donald to gae ? " 

And Lizie's ta'en till her her stockings, 
And Lizie's taen till her her shoon, 

And kilted up her green claithing. 
And awa' wi' young Donald she's gane. 

The road it was lang and was weary ; 

The braes they were ill for to climb ; 
Bonnie Lizie was weary wi' travelling, 

A fit further couldna she win. 

" O are we near hame yet, dear Donald ? 

are we near hame yet, I pray ? " 
" We're naething near hame, bonnie Lizie, 

Nor yet the half o' the way." 



194 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

Sair, sair was she sighing, 

And the saut tear blindit her e'e : 
" Gin this be the pleasures o' luving, 
They never will do wi' me ! " 

"Now hand your tongue, bonnie Lizie ; 
Ye never sail rue for me ; 
Gie me but your luve for my ain luve, 
It is a' that your tocher will be. 

"0 hand your tongue, bonnie Lizie, 
Altho' that the gait seem lang ; 
And you's hae the wale o' gude living 
When to Kincaussie we gang. 

" My father he is an auld shepherd, 
My mither she is an auld dey ; 
And we'll sleep on a bed o' green rashes, 
And dine on fresh curds and green whey." 

They cam' to a hamely puir cottage ; 
The auld woman 'gan for to say : 
" ye're welcome hame, Sir Donald, 
It's yoursell has been lang away." 

" Ye mustna ca' me Sir Donald, 

But ca' me young Donald your son ; 
For I hae a bonnie young leddy 
Behind me, that's coming alang. 



LIZIE LINDSAY. 195 

"Come in, come iu, bonnie Lizie, 

Come hither, come hither," said he ; 

" Altho' that our cottage be leetle, 
I hope we'll the better agree. 

" mak' us a supper, dear mither, 

And mak' it o' curds and green whey ; 
And mak' us a bed o' green rashes. 
And cover it o'er wi' fresh hay." 

She's made them a bed o' green rashes, 
And covered it o'er wi' fresh hay. 

Bonnie Lizie was weary wi' travelling, 
And lay till 'twas lang o' the day. 

" The sun looks in o'er the hill-head. 
An' the laverock is liltin' sae gay ; 
Get up, get up, bonnie Lizie, 
Ye've lain till it's lang o' the day. 

" Ye might hae been out at the shealin^, 
Instead o' sae lang to lie ; 
And up and helping my mither 
To milk her gaits and her kye." 

Then sadly spak' out Lizie Lindsay, 
She spak' it wi' raony a sigh : 
" The leddies o' Edinbro' city 

They milk neither gaits nor kye.'^ 



19G ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

" Rise up, rise up, bonnie Lizie, 
Rise up and niak' yoursel' fine ; 
For we maun be at Kincaussie,. 
Before that the clock strikes nin^'* 

But when they cam' to Kincaussie, 
The porter he loudly doth say, 
" ye're welcome hame, Sir Donald ; 
It's yoursell has been lang away ! " 

It's doun then cam' his auld mither, 
Wi' a' the keys in her han' ; 

Saying, " Tak' ye these, bonnie Lizie, 
For a' is at your comman'." 



f 



KATHARINE JANFARIE. 

There was a may, and a weel-faur'd may, 

Lived high up in yon glen : 
Her name was Katharine Janfarie, 

She was courted by mony men. 

Doun cam' the Laird o' Lamington, 
Doun frae the South Countrie ; 

And he is for this bonny lass, 
Her bridegroom for to be. 



1 



KATHARINE JANFABIE. 197 

He asked na her father, he asked na her mither, 

He asked na ane o' her kin ; 
But he whispered the bonny lassie herseP, 

And did her favor win. 

Doun cam' an English gentleman, 

Doun frae the English border ; 
And he is for this bonnie lass, 

To keep his house in order. 

He asked her father, he asked her mither, 

And a' the lave o' her kin ; 
But he never asked the lassie herseP 

Till on her wedding-e'en. 

But she has wrote a lang letter, 

And sealed it wi' her han' ; 
And sent it away to Lamington, 

To gar him understan'. 

The first line o' the letter he read, 

He was baith fain and glad ; 
But or he has read the letter o'er, 

He's turned baith wan and sad. 

Then he has sent a messenger. 

To rin through a' his land ; 
And four and twenty armed men 

Were sune at his command. 



198 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

But he has left his merry men all, 

Left them on the lee ; 
And he's awa' to the wedding-house, 

To see what he could see. 

They all rase up to honor him, 
For he was of high renown ; 

They all rase up to welcome him, 
And bade him to sit down. 

O meikle was the gude red wine 

In silver cups did flow ; 
But aye she drank to Lamington, 

And fain with him wad go. 

" come ye here to fight, young lord ? 
Or come ye here to play ? 
Or come ye here to drink gude wine 
Upon the wedding-day ? " 

" I come na here to fight," he said, 
" I come na here to play ; 
ril but lead a dance wi' the bonny bride, 
And mount and go my way." 

He's caught her by the milk-white hand. 
And by the grass-green sleeve ; 

He's mounted her hie behind himsel', 
At her kinsfolk spier'd na leave. 



« 



GLENLOGIE. 199 

It's up, it's up the Couden bank, 

It's doun the Couden brae ; 
And aye they made the trumpet soun , 

"It's a' fair play!" 

Now a' ye lords and gentlemen 

That be of England born, 
Come ye na doun to Scotland thus, 

For fear ye get the scorn ! 

They'll feed ye up wi' flattering words. 

And play ye foul play ; 
They'll dress you frogs instead of fish 

Upon your wedding-day ! 



GLENLOGIE. 



Threescore o' nobles rade to the king's ha', 
But bonnie Glenlogie's the flower o' them a' ; 
Wi' his milk-white steed and his bonny black e'e, 
" Glenlogie, dear mither, Glenlogie for me ! " 

" hand your tongue, dochter, ye'll get better than he." 

" say na sae, mither, for that canna be ; 
Though Drumlie is richer, and greater than he, 
Yet if I maun lo'e him, I'll certainly dee. 



200 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

" Where will I get a bonny boy, to win hose and shoon, 
Will gae to Glenlogie, and come again soon ? '^ 

" here am I, a bonny boy, to win hose and shoon, 
Will gae to Glenlogie, and come again soon." 

When he gaed to Glenlogie, 'twas " Wash and go dine," 
'Twas " Wash ye, my pretty boy, wash and go dine." 
"0 'twas ne'er my father's fashion, and it ne'er shall be 
mine. 
To gar a lady's errand wait till I dine. 

" But there is, Glenlogie, a letter for thee." 
The first line he read, a low smile ga'e he ; 
The next line he read, the tear blindit his e'e ; 
But the last line he read, he gart the table flee. 

" Gar saddle the black horse, gar saddle the brown ; 
Gar saddle the swiftest steed e'er rade f rae the town ; " 
But lang ere the horse was brought round to the green, 
bonnie Glenlogie was twa mile his lane. 

When he cam' to Glenfeldy's door, sma' mirth was 
there ; 

Bonnie Jean's mother was tearing her hair ; 
" Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, ye're welcome," said she, 
" Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, your Jeanie to see." 

Pale and wan was she, when Glenlogie gaed ben. 
But red rosy grew she whene'er he sat down ; 
She turned awa' her head, but the smile was in her e'e ; 
'• binna feared, mither, I'll maybe no dee." 



GET UP AND BAB THE DOOR. 201 



GET UP AND BAR THE DOOR. 

It fell about the Martinmas time, 

And a gay time it was than, 
That our gudewife had puddings to mak' 

And she boil'd them in the pan. 

The wind blew cauld frae east and north. 

And blew intil the floor ; 
Quoth our gudeman to our gudewife, 

" Get up and bar the door." 

" M}^ hand is in my hussyskep, 
Gudeman, as ye may see; 
An it shou'dna be barr'd this hunder year, 
It's ne'er be barr'd by me." 

They made a paction 'tween them twa, 

They made it firm and sure, 
That the first word whaever spak. 

Should rise and bar the door. 

Than by there came twa gentlemen. 

At twelve o'clock at night. 
Whan they can see na ither house. 

And at the door they light. 



202 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

" Now whether is this a rich man's house, 
Or whether is it a poor ? " 
But ne'er a word wad ane o' them speak, 
For barring of the door. 

And first they ate the white puddings. 
And syne they ate the black : 

Muckle thought the gudewife to hersell, 
Yet ne'er a word she spak. 

Then ane unto the ither said, 
" Here, man, tak ye my knife ; 

Do ye tak aff the auld man's beard, 
And I'll kiss the gudewife." 

" But there's na water in the house. 
And what shall we do than ? " 

" What ails ye at the pudding bree 
That boils into the pan ? " 

O up then started our gudeman, 
An angry man was he ; 
" Will ye kiss my wife before my een, 
And scaud me wi' pudding bree ? " 

O up then started our gudewife, 
Gied three skips on the floor ; 
" Gudeman, ye've spak the foremost word ; 
Get up and bar the door." 



THE LAWLANDS O' HOLLAND. 203 



THE LAWLANDS 0' HOLLAND. 

" The luve that I liae chosen, 

I'll therewith be content ; 
The saut sea sail be frozen 

Before that I repent. 
Repent it sail I never 

Until the day I dee ; 
But the Lawlands o' Holland 

Hae twinned my luve and me. 

" My luve he built a bonny ship, 

And set her to the main, 
Wi' twenty-four brave mariners 

To sail her out and hame. 
But the weary wind began to rise, 

The sea began to rout, 
And my luve and his bonny ship 

Turned withershins about. 

" There sail nae mantle cross my back. 

No kaim gae in my hair. 
Sail neither coal nor candle-light 

Shine in my bower mair ; 
Nor sail I choose anither luve 

Until the day I dee. 
Sin' the Lawlands o' Holland 

Hae twinned my luve and me." 



204 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

" Noo hand your tougue, my daughter dear, 
Be still, and bide content ; 
There are mair lads in Galloway ; 
Ye needna sair lament." 
" there is nane in Galloway, 

There's nane at a' for me. ^ 

I never lo'ed a lad but ane, i 

And he's drowned i' the sea." ' 

1 



THE TWA CORBIES. 

As I was walking all alane, 
I heard twa corbies making a maen ; 
The tane into the t'ither did say, 
" Whaur shall we gang and dine the day ? " 

" doun beside yon auld fail dyke, 
I wot there lies a new-slain knight ; 
Nae living kens that he lies there, 
But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair. 

" His hound is to the hunting gane. 
His hawk to fetch the wildfowl hame. 
His lady's ta'en another mate, 
Sae we may mak' our dinner sweet. 

" we'll sit on his white hause bane, 
And I'll pyke out his bonny blue e'en, 
AVi' ae lock o' his gowden hair, 
We'll theek our nest when it blaws bare. 



BELEn OF KIRCONNELL. 205 

" Mony a ane for him makes maen, 
But nane shall ken whaur he is gane ; 
Over his banes when they are bare, 
The wind shall blaw for evermair." 



HELEN OF KIRCONNELL. 

I WAD I were where Helen lies ; 

Night and day on me she cries ; 

that I were where Helen lies 

On fair Kirconnell lea ! 

Curst be the heart that thought the thought, 
And curst the hand that fired the shot, 
When in my arms burd Helen dropt. 
And died to succor me ! 

think na but my heart was sair 

When my Love dropt down and spak nae mair I 

1 laid her down wi' meikle care 

On fair Kirconnell lea. 

As I went down the water-side, 
Nane but my foe to be my guide, 
Nane but my foe to be my guide, 
On fair Kirconnell lea; 



206 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

I lighted down my sword to draw, 
I hacked him in pieces sma', 
I hacked him in pieces sma', 

For her sake that died for me. 

O Helen fair, beyond compare ! 
I'll make a garland of thy hair 
Shall bind my heart for e verm air 
Until the day I dee. 

O that I were where Helen lies ! 
Night and day on me she cries ; 
Out of my bed she bids me rise, 

Says, " Haste and come to me ! " 

Helen fair ! Helen chaste ! 
If I were with thee, I were blest, 
Where thou lies low and takes thy rest 

On fair Kirconnell lea. 

1 wad my grave were growing green, 
A winding-sheet draw^n ower my een, 
And I in Helen's arms lying, 

On fair Kirconnell lea. 

I wad I were where Helen lies ; 
Night and day on me she cries ; 
And I am weary of the skies, 
Since my Love died for me. 



WALT WALY. 207 



WALY WALY. 



WALY waly up the bank, 

And waly waly down the brae, 
And waly waly yon burn-side 

Where I and my Love wont to gae ! 

1 leant my back unto an aik, 

I thought it was a trusty tree ; 
But first it bow'd, and syne it brak, 
Sae my true Love did lichtly me. 

waly waly, but love be bonny 

A little time while it is new ; 
But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld 

And fades awa' like morning dew. 
wherefore should I busk my head ? 

Or wherefore should I kame my hair ? 
For my true Love has me forsook, 

And says he'll never loe me mair. 

Now Arthur-seat sail be my bed ; 

The sheets sail ne'er be prest by me : 
Saint Anton's well sail be my drink. 

Since my true Love has forsaken me. 
Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw, 

And shake the green leaves aff the tree ? 
gentle Death, when wilt thou come ? 

For of my life I am wearie. 



208 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

'Tis not the frost, that freezes fell, 

Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie ; 
'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, 

But my Love's heart grown cauld to me. 
When we came in by Glasgow town 

We were a comely sight to see ; 
My Love was clad in black velvet, 

And I mysell in cramasie. 

But had I wist, before I kist, 

That love had been sae ill to win ; 
I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd 

And pinn'd it Avith a siller pin. 
And, ! that my young babe were born, 

And set upon the nurse's knee. 
And I mysell were dead and gane, 

And the green grass growing over me ! 



LOED RONALD. 

" O WHERE hae ye been, Lord Ronald, my son, 

where hae ye been, my handsome young man ? " 

*^ I hae been to the wild wood ; mother, make my bed soon. 
For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down." 

" Where gat ye your dinner. Lord Ronald, my son ? 

Where gat ye your dinner, my handsome young man ? " 
•^ I dined wi' my true-love ; mother, make my bed soon. 

For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down." 



EDWARD, EDWARD. 209 

" What gat ye to your dinner, Lord Konald, my son ? 

What gat ye to your dinner, my handsome young 
man ? " 
" I gat eels boil'd in broo' ; mother, make my bed soon, 

For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down." 

" What became of your bloodhounds, Lord Ronald, my 
son? 
What became of your bloodhounds, my handsome 
young man ? " 
" they swell'd and they died ; mother, make my bed 
soon. 
For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down." 

"01 fear ye are poison'd. Lord Ronald, my son ! 

I fear ye are poison'd, my handsome young man ! " 
" yes ! I am poison'd ! mother, make my bed soon. 

For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wald lie down." 



EDWARD, EDWARD. 

* Why dois your brand sae drap wi bluid, 

Edward, Edward ? 
Why dois your brand sae drap wi bluid, 

And why sae sad gang yee ? ' 
' I hae killed my hauke sae guid, 

Mither, mither, 
O I hae killed my hauke sae guid, 
And I had nae mair bot hee 0.' 



210 ROMANTIC AND DOMESTIC BALLADS. 

' Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid, 

Edward, Edward, 
Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid, 

My deir son, I tell thee 0.' 
* O I hae killed my reid-roan steid, 

Mither, mither, 
O I hae killed my reid-roan steid, 
That erst was sae fair and frie 0.' 

^ Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair, 

Edward, Edward, 
Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair, 

Sum other dule ye drie 0/ 
' I hae killed my f adir deir, 

Mither, mither, 

I hae killed my fadir deir, 

Alas, and wae is mee ! ' 

' And whatten penance wul ye drie for that, 

Edward, Edward ? 
*And whatten penance wul ye drie for that? 

My deir son, now tell me 0.' 

' He set my f eit in yonder boat, 

Mither, mither. 

He set my feit in yonder boat. 

And He fare ovir the sea 0.' 

' And what wul ye doe wi your towirs and your ha, 
Edward, Edward ? 
And what wul ye doe wi your towirs and your ha, 
That were sae fair to see ? ' 



EDWARD, EDWARD. 211 

^ He let thame stand tiil they doun fa, 
Mitlier, mither, 
He let thame stand tul they doun fa, 
For here nevir niair maun I bee 0.' 

' And what wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife, 

Edward, Edward ? 
And what wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife, 
When ye gang ovir the sea ? ' 
^ The warldis room, late them beg thrae life, 
Mither, mither. 
The warldis room, late them beg thrae life, 
For thame nevir mair wul I see 0/ 

* And what wul ye leive to your ain mither deir, 

Edward, Edward ? 
And w^hat wul ye leive to your ain mither deir, 

My deir son, now tell me O.' 
' The curse of hell frae me sail ye beir, 
Mither, mither, 
The curse of hell frae me sail ye beir. 
Sic counseils ye gave to me 0.' 



NOTES. 



Page 3. The Wee Wee Man. Mainly after Herd. Given also 
by Motherwell, Buchan, and Kinloch, and in Caw's " Poetical 
Museum." Shathmont, a six inch measure. Lap, leaped. Jimp, 
neat. 

P. 4. Tamlane. Mainly after Aytoun's collated version. Stanzas 
16-19, obtained by Scott " from a gentleman residing near Lang- 
holm," are too modern in diction to harmonize well with the rest, but 
are retained liere because of their fidelity to the ancient beliefs of the 
country folk about fairies. Widely varying versions are given in 
Johnson's " Museum," communicated by Burns, under title of Tarn 
Lin ; in the Glenriddell MS. under title of Young Tom Line ; by Herd, 
under title of Kertonha, corruption of Carterhaugh ; by Motherwell, 
under titles of Young Tamlin and Tomaline ; by Buchan, under titles 
of Tam-a-line and Tarn a-Lin ; and in the Campbell MS. under title of 
Young Tarn Lane, There are humorous Scottish songs, too, of Tam o 
Lin, Tam o the Linn, Tom a Lin, and Tommy Linn. The ballad is of 
respectable antiquity, the Tayl of the Yong Tamlene and the dance of 
Thom of Lyn being noticed in a work as old as the ''Complaynt 
of Scotland " (1548); yet it seems to have no Continental cousins, but 
to be strictly of Scottish origin. It belongs to Selkirkshire, whose 
peasants still point out upon the plain of Carterhaugli, about a mile 
above Selkirk, the fairy rings in the grass. Preened, decked. Gars, 
makes. Bree, brow. Sained, baptized. Snell, keen. Teind, tithe. 
Borrow, ransom. Cast a compass, draw a circle. Elrish, elvish. Gin, 
if. Maik, mate. Aske, lizard. Bale. fire. But and, and also. Tree, 
wood. Coft, bought. 

P. 12. True Thomas. Mainly after Scott. This is one of the 
ballads written down from the recital of the " good Mrs. Brown," to 
whose admirable memory ballad-lovers are so deeply indebted. It is 
given in the Brown MS. as Thomas Rymer and Queen of Elfland; in 



214 NOTES. 

* 

the Campbell MS. as Thomas the Rhymer. Scott obtained his excel- 
lent version from " a lady residing not far from Ercildoune." This 
Thomas the Rhymer, or True Thomas, or Thomas of Ercildoune, was 
a veritable personage, who dwelt in the village of Ercildoune situate 
by " Leader's silver tide " some two miles above its junction with the 
Tweed. Tradition has it that his date was the thirteenth century and 
his full name Thomas Learmont. He was celebrated as poet and 
prophet, the rustics believing that his gift of soothsaying was im- 
parted by the Fairy Queen, who kept him with her in Elfiand for 
seven years, permitting him then to return to the upper world for a 
season and utter his oracles, but presently recalling him to her mys- 
terious court. A fragmentary old poem, showing probable traces, as 
Jamieson suggests, of the Rhymer's own authorship, tells this famous 
adventure in language whose antiquated form canuot disguise its 
sweetness. The melancholy likelihood seems to be that True Thomas 
was a fibbing Thomas, after all, and invented this story of his sojourn 
in Elfland to gain credit for his poetical prophecies, which claim to 
have first proceeded from the mouth of the Fairy Queen, when 

" Scho broghte liym agayne to Eldone tree, 
Vndir nethe that grenewode spraye ; 
In Huntlee banukes es mery to bee, 
Whare fowles synges bothe nyght and daye." 

Ferlie, wonder. Ilka tett, each lock (of hair). Loiitecl, bowed. Harp 
and carp, play and talk, iet-en, lawn. ^S^ern-^A^, star-light. Bought, 
could. 

Page 15. The Elfin Knight. After Aytoun's version framed by 
collation from copies given by Motherwell, Kinloch, and Buchan. 
These were in the main recovered by recitation, although there is a 
broadside copy of the ballad in the Pepysian collection at Cambridge. 
Fragments of the story have been handed down in tavern-songs and 
nursery-rhymes, and it is to be found, more or less disguised, in the 
literatures of many countries, European and Asiatic. It is only in 
our own versions, however, that the outwitted knight is a supernat- 
ural being, usually an elf, though sometimes degenerating into ** the 
Deil." Nowhere out of canny Scotland does his ungallantry debar 
him from the human ranks. Sark, shirt. Gin, if. Tyne, prong. 
Shear, reap. Bigg, build. Loaf, hollow of the hand. But (candle, 
etc), without (candle, etc.) 



NOTES. 215 

Page 18. Lady Isobel and the Elf-Knigbt. Mainly after 
Buchan's version entitled The Water o' Wearie's Well, although it is 
in another version given hy Buchan, under title of The Goiocms sae 
Gay, that the name of the lady is disclosed, and the elfin nature of 
the eccentric lover revealed. In that ballad Lady Isobel falls in love 
with the elf-knight on hearing him 

" blawing his horn, 
The first morning in May," 

and this more tuneful version retains in the first two stanzas a fading 
trace of the fairy element and the magic music, the bird, whose song 
may be supposed to have caused the lady's heart-ache, being possibly 
the harper in elfin disguise. In most of the versions, however, the 
knight is merely a human knave, usually designated as Fause Sir 
John, and the lady is frequently introduced as May Colven or Colvin 
or Collin or Collean, though also as Pretty Polly. The story is widely 
circulated, appearing in the folk-songs of nearly all the nations of 
northern and southern Europe. It has been suggested that the popu- 
lar legend may be *' a wild shoot from the story of Judith and Holo- 
f ernes." Dowie, doleful. 

P. 21. Tom Thumbe. After Ritson, with omissions. Ritson 
prints from a manuscript dated 1630, the oldest copy known to be ex- 
tant, but the story itself can be traced much further back and was 
evidently a prime favorite with the English rvistics. The plain, often 
doggerel verse, and the rough, often coarse humor of this ballad make 
it appear at striking disadvantage among the Scottish folk-songs, es- 
sentially poetic as even the rudest of them are. Tom Thumbe, it must 
be confessed, is but a clumsy sort of elf, and the ballad as a whole can 
hardly be said to have a fairy atmosphere. Yet it is of value as add- 
ing to the data for a comparison between the English and the Scottish 
peasantry, as throwing light on the fun-loving spirit, the sports and 
practical joking of Merrie England, as showing the tenacity of the 
Arthurian tradition, together with the confusion of chivalric memo- 
ries, as displaying the ignorant credulity of the popular mind toward 
science no less than toward history, and as illustrating, by giving us 
in all this bald, sing-song run of verses, here and there a sweet or 
dainty fancy and at least one stanza of exquisite tenderness and grace, 
the significant fact that in the genuine old English ballads beauty is 
not the rule, but the surprise. Counters, coin-shaped pieces of metal, 



216 NOTES. 

ivory, or wood, used in reckoning. PoiJits, here probably the bits of tin 
plate used to tag the strands of cotton yarn with which, in lieu of but- 
tons, the common folk fastened their garments. The points worn by 
the nobles were laces or silken strands ornamented with aiglets of 
gold or silver. 

Page 33. Kempion. After Allingham's version collated from 
copies given by Scott, Buchan, and Motherwell, with a touch or two 
from the kindred ballad The Laidley Worm of Spindleston Heugh. 
Buchan and Motherwell make the name of the hero Kemp Owyne. 
Similar ballads are known in Iceland and Denmark, and the main 
features of the story appear in both the classic and romantic litera- 
tures. Weif^cl, destiny. Dree, suffer. Borroioed, ransomed. Arhlast 
how, cross-bow. Stythe, place. Louted, bowed. 

P. 37. Alison Gross. After Jamieson's version taken from the 
recitation of Mrs. Brown. Child claims that this tale is a variety of 
Beauty and the Beast. Lemman, lover. Gar-, make. Toddle, twine. 
Seely Court, Happy Court or Fairy Court. See English Dictionary 
for changes of meaning in silly. 

P. 39. The Wife of Usher's Well. After Scott, with a stanza or 
two from Chambers, both versions being recovered by recitation. 
Although this is scarcely more than a fragment, it is well-nigh unsur- 
passed for genuine ballad beauty, the mere touches of narrative sug- 
gesting far deeper things than they actually relate. Martinmas, the 
eleventh of November. Carline loife, old peasant-woman. Fashes, 
troubles. Birk, birch. Syke, marsh. Sheuf/h, trench. Channerin', 
fretting. Giii, if. Byre, cow-house. 

P. 41. A Liyke- Wake Dirge. After Scott. This dirge belongs to 
the north of England and is said to have been chanted, in Yorkshire, 
over the dead, down to about 1624. Lyke-Wake, dead-watch. Sleete, 
salt, it being the old peasant custom to place a quantity of this on the 
breast of the dead. Whinny-muir, Furze-moor. A manuscript 
found by Ritson in the Cotton Library states: " When any dieth, cer- 
taine women sing a song to the dead bodie, recyting the journey that 
the partye deceased must goe ; and they are of beliefe (such is their 
fondnesse) that once in their lives, it is good to give a pair of new 
shoes to a poor man, for as much as, after this life, they are to pass 
barefoote through a great launde, full of thornes and furzen, except 
by the meryte of the almes aforesaid tliey have redemed the forfej^te; 
for, at the edge of the launde, an oulde man shall meet them with the 



NOTES. 217 

same shoes that were given by the partie when he was lyving; and, 
after he hath shodcle them, dismisseth them to go through thick and 
thin, without scratch or scalle." Brigg o' Dread, Bridge of Dread. 
Descrij)tious of this Bridge of Dread are found in various Scottish 
poems, the most minute being given in the legend of Sir Oioain. 
Compare the belief of the Mahometan that in his approach to the 
judgment-seat, he must traverse a bar of red-hot iron, stretched across 
a bottomless abyss, true believers being upheld by their good works, 
while the wicked fall headlong into the gulf. 

Page 43. Proud Lady 3Iargaret. After Aytoun. The original 
versions of this ballad, as given by Scott, Buchan, Dixon, and Laing, 
differ widely. It is known under various titles, The Courteous Knight, 
The Jolly Illnd Squire, The Knicht o Archerdale, Fair Margret, and 
Jolly Janet. Similar ballads are rife in France, although in these it 
is more frequently the ghost of a dead lady who admonishes her liv- 
ing lover. Wale, choose. Ill-ioashen feet, etc., in allusion to the 
custom of washing and dressing the dead for burial. Feckless, 
worthless. Pirie's chair remains an unsolved riddle of the ballad, 
editors and commentators not being as good at guessing as the 
ghost. 

P. 48. The Twa Sisters o' Binnorie. Mainly after Aytoun. 
There are many versions of this ballad in Scotland, England, Wales 
and Ireland, varying widely in titles, refrains, and indeed in every- 
thing save the main events of the story. A broadside copy appeared 
as early as 1656. Ballads on the same subject are very poj)ular among 
the Scandinavian peojjles, and traces of the story are found as far 
away as China and South Africa. Tivined, parted. Make, mate. 
Gar^d, made. Although Lockhart would have the burden pronounced 
Binnorie, a more musical effect is secured by following Jamiesou and 
pronouncing Binnorie. 

P. 53. The Demon Lover. After Scott. Buchan has a version 
under title of James Herries, the demon being here transformed into a 
lover who has died abroad and comes in spirit guise to punish his 
" Jeanie Douglas " for her broken vows. Motherwell gives a graphic 
fragment. Ilka, every. Drumly, dark. Won, dwell. 

P. 56. Riddles Wisely Expounded. Mainly after Motherwell. 
There are several broadsides, differing slightly, of this ballad. Rid- 
dling folk-songs similar to this in general features have been found 
among the Germans and Hussians and in Gaelic literature. Speird, 



218 NOTES. 

asked. Unco, nncanny. Gin, if. Pies, magpies. Clootie, see Burns's 
Address to the Deil. 

" O thou ! whatever title suit thee, 
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie," etc. 

Page 61. Sir Patrick Spens. After Scott. There are manj^ 
versions of 

" The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence," 

as Coleridge so justly terms it, the fragment in the Reliques being un- 
surpassed among them all for poetic beauty. Herd's longer copy, like 
several of the others, runs song-fashion : 

" They had not saild upon the sea 
A league but merely nine, O, 
When wind and weit and snaw and sleit 
Cam' blawin' them behiu', O." 

Motherwell gives the ballad in four forms, in one of them the skip- 
per being dubbed Sir Patrick, in another Earl Patrick, in another 
Young Patrick, and in yet another Sir Andrew "Wood. Jamieson's 
version puts into Sir Patrick's mouth an exclamation that reflects lit- 
tle credit upon his sailor character : 

" O wha is this, or wha is that, 
Has tald the king o' me ? 
For I was never a gude seaman, 
Nor ever intend to be." 

But with a few such trifling exceptions, the tone toward the skip- 
per is universally one of earnest respect and sympathy, the keynote of 
every ballad being the frank, vmconscious heroism of this " gude Sir 
Patrick Spens." In regard to the foundation for the story, Scott 
maintains that "the king's daughter of Noroway" was Margaret, 
known to history as the Maid of Korway, daughter of Eric, king of 
Norway, and of Margaret, daughter of Alexander III. of Scotland. 
This last-named monarch died in 1285, the Maid of Norway, his 
yellow-haired little granddaughter, being the heiress to his crown. 
The Maid of Norway died, however, before she was of age to assume 
control of her turbulent Scottish kingdom. Scott surmises, on the 
authority of the ballad, that Alexander, desiring to have the little 
princess reared in the country she was to rule, sent this expedition for 
her during his life-time. No record of such a voyage is extant, al- 



NOTES. 219 

though possibly the presence of the king is a bold example of poetic 
license, and the reference is to an earlier and more disastrous em- 
bassy than that finally sent by the Regency of Scotland, after Alex- 
ander's death, to their young queen, Sir Michael Scott of wizard fame 
being at that time one of the ambassadors. Finlaj'-, on the other hand, 
places this ballad in the days of James III., who married Margaret of 
Denmark. Here we have historic testimony of the voyage, but none 
of the shiii wreck, — yet against any one of these theories the natural 
objection is brought that so lamentable a disaster, involving so many 
nobles of the realm, would hardly be suffered to escape the pen of the 
chronicler. Motherwell, Maidment, and Aytoun, relying on a corrob- 
orative passage in Fordun's Scotichronicon, hold with good appear- 
ance of reason that the ballad pictures what is known as an actual 
shipwreck, on the return from Norway of those Scottish lords who 
had escorted thither the bride of Eric, the elder Margaret, afterward 
mother of the little Maid of Norway. The ballad itself well bears 
out this theory , especially in the taunt flung at the Scottish gallants 
for lingering too long in nuptial festivities on the inhospitable Nor- 
wegian coast. The date of this marriage was 1281. Skeely, skilful. 
Gane, sufficed, llalf-fou, half-bushel. Gurly, stormy. 

Page G5. The Battle of Otterburue. After Scott. There are 
several Scottish versions of this spirit-stirring ballad, and also an Eng- 
lish version, first printed in the fourth edition of the Reliqxies. The 
English ballad, naturally enough, dwells more on the prowess of 
Percy and his countrymen in the combat than on their final discom- 
fiture. A vivid account of the battle of Otterburne may be found in 
Froissart's Chronicles. In brief, it was a terrible slaughter brought 
about by the eager pride and ambition of those two hot-blooded young 
chieftains, James, Earl of Douglas, and the redoubtable Harry Percy. 
Yet the generosity of the leaders and the devoted loyalty of their men 
throw a moral splendor over the scene of bloodshed. In the year 
1388 Douglas, at the head of three thousand Scottish spears, made a 
raid into Northumberland and, before the walls of Newcastle, en- 
gaged Percy in single combat, capturing his lance with the attached 
pennon. Douglas retired in triu.mph, brandishing his trophy, but Hot- 
spur, burning with shame, hurriedly mustered the full force of the 
Marches and, following hard upon the Scottish rear, made anight at- 
tack upon the camp of £)ouglas at Otterburne, about twenty miles from 
the frontier. Then ensued a moonlight battle, gallant and desperate, 



220 NOTES. 

fought on either side with unflinching bravery, and ending in the de- 
feat of the English, Percy being taken prisoner. But the Scots 
bought their glory dear by the loss of their noble leader, who, when 
the English troops, superior in number, were gaining ground, dashed 
forward with impetuous courage, cheering on his men, and cleared a 
way with his swinging battle-axe into the heart of the enemy's ranks. 
Struck down by three mortal wounds, he died in the midst of the 
fray, urging with his failing breath these last requests upon the little 
guard of kinsmen who pressed about him: " First, that yee keep my 
death close both from our owue folke and from the enemy ; then, that 
ye suffer not my standard to be lost or cast downe ; and last, that ye 
avenge my death, and bury me at Melrosse with my father. If I could 
hope for these things," he added, " I should die with the greater con- 
tentment; for long since I heard a prophesie that a dead man should 
winne a field, and I hope in God it shall be I." Lammas-tide, the 
first of August. Muirmen, moormen. Harried, plundered. The tane, 
the one. Fell, skin. (The inference is that Percy was rescued by his 
men.) Gin, if. Burn, brook. Kale, broth. Fend, sustain. Bent, 
open field. Pallions, tents (pavilions). BranTcinr/, prancing. War- 
gangs, wagons. Ayont, beyond. Heiomont, helmet. Sioakkit, smote. 
Bracken, fern. 

Pagbj 71. The Hunting of the Cheviot. After Hearne, who 
first printed it from a manuscript in the Ashmolean collection at Ox- 
ford. It was next printed in the Reliques, under title of Chevy-Chase, 
— a title now reserved for the later and inferior broadside version 
which was singularly popular throughout the seventeenth century and 
is still better known than this far more spirited original. " With re- 
gard to the subject of this ballad," — to quote from Bishop Percy, — 
" although it has no countenance from history, there is room to think 
it had originally some foundation in fact. It was one of the laws of 
the Marches, frequently renewed between the nations, that neither 
party should hunt in the other's borders, without leave from the pro- 
prietors or their deputies. There had long been a rivalship between 
the two martial families of Percy and Douglas, which, heightened by 
the national quarrel, must have produced frequent challenges and 
struggles for superiority, petty invasions of their respective domains, 
and sharp contests for the point of honour; which would not always 
be recorded in history. Something of this kind, we may suppose, 
gave rise to the ancient ballad of the Hunting o' the Cheviat. Percy, 



NOTES. 221 

Earl of Northumberland, had vowed to hunt for three days in the 
Scottish border, without condescending to ask leave from Earl 
Douglas, who was either lord of the soil, or lord warden of the 
Marches. Douglas would not fail to resent the insult, and endeavour 
to repel the intruders by force ; this would naturally produce a sharp 
conflict between the two parties ; something of which, it is probable, 
did really happen, though not attended with the tragical circum- 
stances recorded in the ballad: for these are evidently borrowed from 
the Battle of Otterbourn, a very different event, but which aftertimes 
would easily confound with it." The date of the ballad cannot, of 
course, be strictly ascertained. It was considered old in the middle 
of the sixteenth century, being mentioned in The Complaynt of Scot- 
land (1548) among the "sangis of natural music of the antiquite." 
Not much can be said for its " natural music," yet despite its rough- 
ness of form and enviable inconsistencies of spelling, it has always 
found grace with the poets. Rare Ben Jonson used to say that he 
would rather have been the author of Chevy Chase than of all his 
works ; Addison honored the broadside version with two critiques in 
the Spectator; and Sir Philip Sidney, though lamenting that the ballad 
should be "so evil apparrelled in the dust and cobwebs of that un- 
civill age," breaks out with the ingenuous confession : " I never heard 
the olde song of Percy and Duglas that I found not my heart mooved 
more then with a trumpet, and yet is it sung but by some blinde 
crouder, with no rougher voice then rude stile." Mauger, despite. 
l,et, hinder. Meany, company. Shyars, shires. Bomen, bowmen. 
Byckarte, moved quickly, rattling their weapons. Bent, open field. 
Aras, arrows. Wyld, wild creatures, as deer. Shear, swiftly. Grevis, 
groves. Gle7it, glanced, flashed by. Oware off none, hour of noon. 
Mort, death-signal (as used in hunting.) Quyrry, quarry, slaughtered 
game. Bryttlynge, cutting up. Wyste, knew. By II and hrande, axe 
and sword. Glede, live coal. The ton, the one. Yerle, earl. Cors, 
curse. Nam, name.* Wat, wot, know. Sloughe, slew. Byddys, 
abides. Wouche, injury. Ost, host. Snar, sure. Many a doughete 
the garde to dy, many a doxTghty (knight) they caused to die. Bas- 
nites, small helmets. Myneyeple, maniple (of many folds), a coat worn 
under the armor. Freyke, warrior. Sioapte, smote. MylVan, Milan. 
Right, promise. Spendyd, grasped (spanned). Corsiare, courser. 
Blane, halted. Dynte, stroke. Halyde, hauled. Stour, press of bat- 
tle. Dre, endure. Hinde, gentle. Hexoyne in to, hewn in two. The 



222 NOTES. 

mayde them hyears, they made them biers. MaJcys, mates. Carpe 
off care, tell of sorrow. March j^erti, the Border district. Lyff-tenant, 
lieutenant. Weal, clasp. Brook, enjoy. Quyte, avenged. That tear 
ber/ane this spurn, that wrong caused this retaliation. Reane, rain. 
Ballys bete, sorrows amend. 

Page 83. Edom o' Gordon. After Aytoun. This ballad was first 
printed at Glasgow, 1755, as taken down by Sir David Dalrymple 
" from the recitation of a lady," and was afterwards inserted — " in- 
terpolated and corrupted," says the unappeasable Ritson — in Percy's 
Reliques. Ritson himself published a genuine and ancient copy from 
a manuscript belonging apparently to the last quarter of the sixteenth 
century and preserved in the Cotton Library. The ballad is known 
under two other titles. Captain Car and The Burning o' Loudon Cas- 
tle. Notwithstanding this inexactitude in names, the ballad has an 
historical basis. In 1571 Adam Gordon, deputy-lieutenant of the 
North of Scotland for Queen Mary, was engaged in a struggle against 
the clan Forbes, who upheld the Reformed Faith and the King's 
party. Gordon was successful in two sharp encounters, but " what 
glory and renown he obtained of these two victories," says the con- 
temporary History of King James the Sixth, " was all cast down by 
the infamy of his next attempt ; for immediately after this last con- 
flict he directed his soldiers to the castle of Towie, desiring the house 
to be rendered to him in the Queen's name; which was obstinately re- 
fused by the lady, and she burst forth with certain injurious words. 
And the soldiers being impatient, by command of their leader, Captai^i 
Ker, fire was put to the house, wherein she and the number of twenty- 
seven persons were cruelly burnt to the death." 

Martinmas, the eleventh of November. Hauld, stronghold. Toun, 
enclosed place. Buskit, made ready. Light, alighted. But and, and 
also. Dree, suffer. But an, unless. Wude, mad. Dule, pain. Reek, 
smoke. Nourice, nurse. Jimp, slender. Row, roll. Toio, throw. 
Busk and boun, up and away. Freits, ill omens. Loive, blaze. 
Wichty, sturdy. Bent, field. Teenfu\ sorrowful. Wroken, avenged. 

P. 89. Kinmont Willie. After Scott. This dashing ballad 
appeared for the first time in the Border Minstrelsy, having been 
"preserved by tradition," says Scott, "on the West Borders, but 
much mangled by reciters, so that some conjectural emendations have 
been absolutely necessary to render it intelligible." The facts in the 
case seem to be that in 1596 Salkeld, deputy of Lord Scroope, English 



NOTES, 223 

Warden of the West Marches, and Robert Scott, for the Laird of 
Buccleuch, Keeper of Liddesdale, met on the border line for confer- 
ence in the interest of the public weal. The truce, that on such occa- 
sions extended from the day of the meeting to the next day at sunset, 
was this time violated by a party of English soldiers, who seized upon 
William Armstrong of Kinmonth, a notorious freebooter, as he, at- 
tended by but three or four men, was returning from the conference, 
and lodged him in Carlisle Castle. The Laird of Buccleuch, after 
treating in vain for his release, raised two hundred horse, surprised 
the castle and carried off the prisoner without further ceremony. This 
exploit the haughty Queen of England " esteemed a great affront " 
and " stormed not a little " against the " bauld Buccleuch." Haribee, 
the place of execution at Carlisle. Liddel-rack, a ford on the Liddel. 
Reiver, robber. Hostelrle, inn. Lawing, reckoning. Garr^d, made. 
Basnet, helmet. Ciirch, cap. Lightly, set light by. Loio, blaze. 
Splent on sjmidd, armor on shoulder. Woodhonselee, a house belong- 
ing to Buccleuch, on the Border. Herry, harry, spoil. Corbie, crow, 
irons, dwells. Zear, lore. i?oz«-/oo^ed, rough-footed (?). Spait, ^oo^. 
Garr'd, made. Stear, stir. Coulters, ploughshares. Forehammei's, 
the large hammers that strike before the small, sledgehammers. 
Fley'd, frightened. Spier, inquire. Hente, caught. Maill, rent. 
Aims, irons. Wood, mad. Furs, furrows. Treio, trust. 

Page 97. King John and the Abbot of Canterbury. After 
Percy, who printed from an ancient black-letter copy. There are 
three other broadside versions of this popular ballad extant, and at 
least one older version has been lost. Similar riddle-stories are to be 
found in almost all European literatures. There is notliing in this 
ballad save the name of King John, with his reputation for unjust and 
high-handed dealing, that can be called traditional. Beere, harm. 
Stead, place. St. Bittel, St. Botolph (?). 

P. 101. Robin Hood Rescuing the Widow's Three Sons. 
After Ritson, who has collected in two volumes the ballads of Robin 
Hood. This is believed to be one of the oldest of them all. A con- 
cise introduction to the Robin Hood ballads is given by Mr. Hales in 
the Percy Folio MS. vol. 1. This legendary king of Sherwood Forest 
is more rightfully the hero of English song than his splendid rival, the 

Keltic King Arthur, 

" whose name, a ghost, 
Streams like a cloud, man-shaped, from mountain peak, 
And cleaves to cairn and cromlech still." 



224 NOTES. 

Yet there is scarcely less doubt as to the actual existence of a flesh- 
and-blood Robin Hood than there is as to the actual existence of a 
flesh-and-blood King Arthur. But let History look to her own; Lit- 
erature need have no scruple in claiming both the archer-prince of 
outlaws and the blameless king of the Table Round. Robber chief- 
tain or democratic agitator, romantic invention or Odin-myth, it is cer- 
tain that by the fourteenth century Robin Hood was a familiar jfigure 
in English balladry. We have our first reference to this generous- 
hearted rogue of the greenwood, who is supposed by Ritson to have 
lived from IIGO to 1247, in Langlande's Piei^s Plcniyhman (1362). 
There are brief notices of the popular bandit in Wyntoun's Scottish 
Chronicle (1420), Fordun's Scotichronicoii (1450), and Mair's Historia 
Majoris Brittanix (1521). Famous literary allusions occur in Lati- 
mer's 6'ia:</i Sermon before Edioard VI. (1548), in Drayton's Polyolbion 
(1613), and Fuller's Worthies of England (1662). The Robin Hood 
ballads illustrate to the full the rough and heavy qualities, both of 
form and thought, that characterize all our English folk-songs as op- 
posed to the Scottish. "We feel the difference instantly when a min- 
strel from over the Border catches up the strain : 

•' There's mony ane sings o' grass, o' grass. 
And mony ane sings o' corn; 
And mony ane sings o' Robin Hood, 
Kens little whar' he was born. 

" It was na' in the ha', the ha', 
Nor in the painted bower; 
But it was in the gude greenwood, 
Amang the lily flower." 

Yet these rude English ballads have just claims on our regard. 
They stand our feet squarely upon the basal rock of Saxon ethics, 
they breathe a spirit of the sturdiest independence, and they draw, in 
a few strong strokes, so fresh a picture of the joyous, fearless life led 
under the green shadows of the deer-haunted forest by that memora- 
ble band, bold Robin and Little John, Friar Tuck and George a 
Green, Will Scarlett, Midge the Miller's Son, Maid Marian and the 
rest, that we gladly succumb to a charm recognized by Shakespeare 
himself: " They say he is already in the forest of Arden, and a many 
merry men with him; and there tliey live like the old Robin Hood of 
England ; they say many young gentlemen flock to him every day, 



NOTES. 225 

and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world." —As 
You Like It. 

Page 106. Robin Hood and AUin A Dale. After Ritson. This 
ballad is first found in broadside copies of the latter half of the seven- 
teenth century. Lin, pause. 

P. 111. Robin Hood's Death and Burial. After Ritson, who 
made his version from a collation of two copies given in a York gar- 
land. 

P. 117. Annie of Lochroyan. After Aytoun, who improves on 
Jamieson's version. This beautiful ballad is given in varying forms 
by Herd, Scott, Buchan, and others. Lochroyan, or Loch Ryan, is a 
bay on the south-west coast of Scotland. Jimp, slender. Gin, if. 
Greet, cry. TirVd, rattled. But and, and also. Warlock, wizard. 
6'in5?/?ie, since then. Hooly , slo^vlj . Deid, Aeath. Syne,X\iQn. 

P. 123. Lord Thomas and Fair Aunet. After Aytoun, who 
adds to the first txventy-four stanzas of the copy given in the Reliques 
a concluding fourteen taken from Jamieson's Siveet Willie and Fair 
Annie. The unfortunate lady elsewhere figures as The Niit-Broion 
Bride and Fair Ellinor. There are Norse ballads which relate some- 
thing akin to the same story. Gif, if. Rede, counsel. Owsen, oxen. 
Billie, an affectionate term for brother. Byi^e, cow-house. Fadge, 
clumsy woman. Sheen, shoes. Tift, whiff. Gin, if. Cleiding, cloth- 
ing. Bruik, enjoy. Kist, chest. Lee, lonesome. Till, to. Doivie, 
doleful. Sark, shroud. But and, and also. Bl7'k, birch. 

P. 129. The Banks o' YarroAV. After Allingham's collated 
version. There are many renderings of this ballad, which Scott de- 
clares to be a great favorite among the peasantry of the Ettrick forest, 
who firmly believe it founded on fact. The river Yarrow, so favored 
of the poets, flows through a valley in Selkirkshire and joins the 
Tweed above tlie town of Selkirk. The Te7inies is a, fann below the 
Yarrow kirk. Laioinr/, reckoning. Daioing, dawn. Marroiv, mate. 
Bowie, doleful. Leaf a', lawful. Binna, be not. 

P. 133. The Doughis Tragedy. After Scott. This ballad is 
likewise known under titles of Earl Brand, Lady Margaret and The 
Child of Ell. Danish, Swedish, Norwegian and Icelandic ballads re- 
late a kindred story, and the incident of the intertwining plants that 
spring from the graves of hapless lovers, occurs in the folk-lore of 
almost all peoples. Bugelet, a small bugle. Dighted, strove to 
stanch. Plat, intertwined. 



226 NOTES. 

Page 136. Fine Flowers i' the Valley. After Aytorni, his 
version, though taken down from recitation, being in reality a com- 
pound of Herd's and Jamieson's. Aytoun claims that " this is per- 
haps the most popular of all the Scottish ballads, being commonly 
recited and sung even at the present day." Different refrains are 
often employed, and the ballad is frequently given nnder title of The 
Cruel Brother. Stories similar to this are found in the balladry of 
both northern and southern Europe. Marroxo, mate. Clofie, avenue 
leading from the door to the street. Louting, bowing. Its lane, 
alone. 

P. 140. The Gay Goss-Hawk. Mainly after Motherwell, al- 
though his version is entitled 2'he Jolly Goshawk. The epithet Gay 
has the sanction of Scott and Jamieson. Buchan gives a rendering of 
this ballad under title of The Scottish Squire. Whin, furze. Bigly, 
spacious. Sark, shroud. Claith, cloth. Steekiny, stitching. Gar'd, 
made. Chive, morsel. Skaith, harm. 

P. 145. Young Rediii. After Allingham's collated copy. There 
are many versions of this ballad, the hero being vario^^sly known 
as Young Hunting, Earl Richard, Lord William, Lord John and 
Young Redin. BirVd, plied. Douk, dive. Weil-head, eddy. Linn, 
the pool beneath a cataract. Brin, burn. Balefire, bonfire. 

P. 150. Willie and May Margaret. After AUingham's copy 
framed by collating Jamieson's fragmentary version with Buchan's 
ballad of The Drowned Lovers. Stour, wild. Pot, a pool in a river. 
Doiwie (Zen, doleful hollow. TiWecZ, rattled. Steeked, iastened. Brae, 
hillside. Sowm, swim. Minnie, affectionate term for mother. 

P. 155. Young Beichan. Mainly after Jamieson, his version 
being based upon a copy taken down from the recitation of the inde- 
fatigable Mrs. Brown and collated with a manuscript and stall copy, 
both from Scotland, a recited copy from the North of England, and a 
sliort version "picked off an old wall in Piccadilly." Of this ballad 
of Young Beichan there are numerous renderings, the name of the 
hero undergoing many variations, — Bicham, Brechin, Beachen, 
Bekie, Bateman, Bondwell — and the heroine, although Susie Pye or 
Susan Pye in ten of the fourteen versions, figuring also as Isbel, 
Essels, and Sophia. It was probably an English ballad at the 
start, but bears the traces of the Scottish minstrels who were doubt- 
less prompt to borrow it. There is likelihood enough that the ballad 
was originally suggested hy the legend of Gilbert Becket, father of 



NOTES. 22T 

the great archbishop ; the story running that Becket, while a captive 
in Holy Land, plighted his troth to the daughter of a Saracenic prince. 
When the crusader had made good his escape, the lady followed him, 
inquiring her way to " England " and to " London," where she wan- 
dered up and down the streets, constantly repeating her lover's name, 
" Gilbert," the third and last word of English that she knew, until 
finally she found him, and all her woes were put to flight by the peal 
of wedding bells. Termagant, the name given in the old romances to 
the God of the Saracens. Pine, pain. Sheave, slice. Bat and, and 
also. Dreed, endured. 

Page 162. Gilderoy. After the current version adapted from the 
original by Sir Alexander Halket or his sister. Lady Elizabeth 
Wardlaw, the composer of Hardyknute. There is extant a black- 
letter broadside printed in England as early as 1650, and the ballad 
appears in several miscellanies of later date. The reviser added the 
sixth, seventh, and eighth stanzas. It is mortifying to learn that 
this "winsome Gilderoy " — the name, properly Gillie roy, signifying 
in Gaelic "tbe red-haired lad" — was in reality one Patrick Mac- 
Gregor, who was hanged at the cross of Edinburgh, 1638, as a common 
cateran or free-hooter. That the romantic element in the ballad so 
outweighs the historical, must account for its classification here. 
Soy, silk. C'e.s.s, black-mail. Gear, property. 

P. 166. Bonny Barbara Allan. After the version given in 
Ramsay's Tea-Tahle Miscellany and followed by Herd, Ritson, and 
others. Percy prints with this in the Reliques a longer, but poorer 
copy. In Pepys's Diary, Jan. 2, 1666, occurs an allusion to the " little 
Scotch song of Barbary Allen." Gin, if. Hooly, slowly. Joio, knell. 

P. 168. The Gardener. After Kinloch. Buchan gives a longer, 
but less valuable version. Jimp, slender. Weed, dress. Camorine, 
camomile. Kail-blade, cabbage-leaf. Cute, ankle. Braion, calf. 
Blaewort, witch bells. 

P. 169. Etin the Forester. Collated. No single version of this 
ballad is satisfactory, not Kinloch's fine fragment, Hynde Etin, 
nor Buchan's complete but inferior version, Young Akin, nor the 
modernized copy, Young Hastings, communicated by Buchan to 
Motherwell. Earlier and better renderings of the ballad have doubt- 
less been lost. In the old Scottish speech, an Etin signified an ogre 
or giant, and although the existing versions show but faint traces of a 
supernatural element, it is probable that the original character of the 



228 NOTES. 

story has been changed by the accidents of tradition, and that the 
Etin was at the outset in line with such personages as Arnold's For- 
saken Merman. In the beautiful kindred ballads which abound in 
the Norse and German literatures, the Etin is sometimes represented 
by a merman, though usually by an elf-king, dwarf-king, or hill-king. 
Hind duel, young stripling. Spier, ask. Bigg, build. Their lane, 
alone. Brae, hillside. Gars, makes. Greet, weep. Stown, stolen. 
Laverock, lark. Lift, air. Buntin\ blackbird. Christendame, 
christening. Ben, in. Shaw, forest. Louted, bowed. Boim', go. 

Page 177. Lamkin. After Jamieson. The many versions of 
this ballad show an unusually small number of variations. The 
name, though occurring in the several forms of Lambert Linkin, 
Lamerlinkin, Rankin, Belinkin, Lankyn, Lonkin, Balcanqual, most 
often appears as Lamkin or Lammikin or Lambkin, being perhaps a 
nick-name given to the mason for the meekness Avith which he had 
borne his injuries. This would explain the resentful tone of his in- 
quiries on entering the house. Nourice, nurse. Limmer, wretch. 
Shot-ioindoio, projecting window. Gaire, edge of frock. Ilka, each. 
l?o?'e, crevice. Greeting, cvying. Doicie,doleiu\. Chamer, chamber. 
Lamer, amber. Ava\ of all. 

P. 182. Hugh of Lincoln. Mainly after Jamieson. Percy 
gives a version of this famous ballad under title of The Jew's Daugh- 
ter, and Herd and Motherwell, as well as Jamieson, have secured 
copies from recitation. The general view that this ballad rests upon 
an historical basis has but slender authority behind it. Matthew 
Paris, never too reliable as a chronicler, says that in 1255 the Jews of 
Lincoln, after their yearly custom, stole a little Christian boy, tor- 
tured and crucified him, and flung him into a pit, where his mother 
found the body. This is in all probability one of the many cruel 
slanders circulated against the Jews during the Middle Ages, to rec- 
oncile the Christian conscience to the Christian maltreatment of that 
long-suffering race. Such stories are related of various mediaeval 
innocents, in various lands and centuries, and may be classed together, 
until better evidence to the contrary presents itself, as malicious 
falsehood. This ballad should be compared, of course, with Chaucer's 
Prioresses Tale. Keppit, caught. Gart, made. TioinrCd, deprived. 
Row'd, rolled. Ilka, each. Gin, if. 

P. 185. Fair Annie. Mainly after Jamieson's version entitled 
Lady Jane. Jamieson gives another copy, where the heroic lady 



NOTES. 229 

is known as Burd Helen, but Scott, Motherwell, Kinloch, Buchan, 
and others agree on the name Fair Amiie. The pathetic beauty 
of the ballad has secured it a wide popularity. There are Dan- 
ish, Swedish, Dutch, and German versions. "But Fair Annie's 
fortunes have not only been charmingly sung," says Professor Child. 
"They have also been exquisitely told in a favorite lay of Marie de 
France, * Le Lai del Freisne.' This tale of Breton origin is three 
hundred years older than any manuscript of the ballad. Comparison 
will, however, quickly show tliat it is not the source either of the 
English or of the Low German and Scandinavian ballad. The tale 
and the ballads have a common source, which lies further back, and 
too far for us to find." Your lane, alone. Braw, finely dressed. 
Gear, goods. But and, and also. Stoioi, stolen. Leugh, laughed. 
Loot, let. Gars, makes. Greet, weep. 

Page 189. The Laird o' Drum. After Aytoun's collated version. 
Copies obtained from recitation are given by Kinloch and Buchan. 
The eccentric Laird o' Drum was an actual personage, who, in the 
seventeenth century, mortified his aristocratic relatives and delighted 
the commons by marrying a certain Margaret Coutts, a woman of 
lowly rank, his first wife having been a daughter of the Marquis of 
Huntly. The old shepherd speaks in the Aberdeen dialect. Weel- 
faur'd, well-favored. Gin, if. Speer, ask. Kehhuck, cheese. Yetts, 
gates. Gawsij, portly. But the pearlin' abitne her hree, without the 
lace above her brow. 

P. 192. L/izie Lindsey. After Jamieson. Complete copies are 
given by Buchan and Whitelaw, also. Till, to. Braes, hills. Fit, 
foot. Gin, if. Tocher, dowry. Gait, way. Wale, choice. Dey, 
dairy-woman. Laverock, lark. IAltin\ carolling. Shealin', sheep- 
shed. Gaits and kye, goats and cows. 

P. 196. Katharine Janfarie. Mainly after Motherwell's ver- 
sion entitled Catherine Johnstone. Other renderings are given by 
Scott, Maidment, and Buchan. In Scott's version the name of the 
English suitor is Lord Lochinvar, and both name and story the thiev- 
ing poet has turned, as everybody knows, to excellent account. The two 
closing stanzas here seem to betray the hand of an English balladist. 
Weel-fanr'd, well-favored. Lave, rest. Spier'd, asked. Brae, hill. 

P. 199. Glenlogie. After Smith's version in the Scottish Min- 
strel,—^ book wherein" great liberties," Motherwell claims, have 
been taken with ancient lays. A rough but spirited version is given 
by Sharpe, and a third by Buchan. Gar, make. His lane, alone. 



230 NOTES. 

Page 201. Get up and Bar the Door. After Herd. This bal- 
lad appears, too, in Johnson's Museum and Ritson's Scottish Songs. 
Martinmas, the eleventh of November, Intil, into. Hussyskep, 
house-keeping. Bree, broth. Scaud, scald. 

P. 203. The Liawlands o» Holland. After Herd. Another 
version, longer and poorer, occurs in Johnson's Museum. Wither- 
shins, the wrong way. Twinned, parted. 

P. 204. The Twa Corbies. After Scott, who received it from 
Mr. C. K. Sharpe, " as written down, from tradition, by a lady." 
This seems to be the Scottish equivalent of an old English poem, The 
Three Ravens, given byRitson in his Ancient Songs. Corbies, ravens. 
Fail, turf. Ke7is, knows. Hause, neck. Pyke, pick. Theek, thatch. 

P. 205. Helen of Kirconnell. After Scott. Other versions 
are given by Herd, Ritson, and Jamieson. There is said to be a tra- 
ditional basis for the ballad, and the grave of the lovers, Adam Flem- 
ing and Helen Irving (or Helen Bell), is still pointed out in the 
churchyard of Kirconnell, near Springkell. B^ird, lady. 

P. 207. Waly Waly. After Ramsay, being first published in the 
Tea-Table Miscellany. These touching and tender stanzas have been 
pieced by Chambers into the patchwork ballad. Lord Jamie Douglas, 
but evidently it is not there that they belong. Waly, a cry of lamenta- 
tion. Brae, hiUside. Burn, hrook. Syne, then. Lichtly , sUght. Busk, 
adorn. MartVmas, November. Fell, bitterly. Cramasie, crimson, 

P. 208. Lord Ronald. After Scott's version entitled Lord 
Randal. Scott adopts this name because he thinks the ballad may 
originally have had reference to the death of Thomas Randolph, or 
Randal, Earl of Murray, — a theory which Allingham, with more jus- 
tice than mercy, briefly disposes of as " mere antiquarian moonshine." 
In point of fact the ballad recounts an old, old story, told in many liter- 
atures, Italian, German, Dutch, Swedish, Danish, Magyar, Wendish, 
Bohemian, Catalan. The English offshoot takes on a bewildering 
variety of forms. (See Introduction, pp. xiii, xiv.) Broo\ broth. 

P. 209. Edward, Edward. After Percy, the ballad having 
made its first appearance in the Reliques. Motherwell gives an inter- 
esting version, in which the murderer, who in this case has slain his 
brother, is addressed as Son Davie. There are German, Swedish, 
Danish and Finish equivalents. The old orthography, which is 
retained here for its literary interest, cannot obscure the tragic power 
of the ballad. Frie, free. Dule ye drie, grief ye suffer. Tul, till. 



e^e 



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